


Snow White

by OneMoreAltmer



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Snow White - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bathing/Washing, Bondage, Child Abuse, Double Penetration, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Fisting, Gangbang, Hand Jobs, Haunting, Multi, Murder, Necrophilia, Oral Sex, Parent/Child Incest, Poison, Triple Penetration, Vaginal Sex, Whipping, scary poetry, sex as barter, spell gone wrong, supernatural murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-18 06:10:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14847266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneMoreAltmer/pseuds/OneMoreAltmer
Summary: Mix an old-school approach to fairy tales with pornography and get the darkest thing I have ever written!Once upon a time, a queen wished for a daughter whose beauty no one would be able to resist. She could not have imagined the consequences.





	1. One

Queen Morwen sat quite still, distracted from her embroidery by the beginning of winter’s first snowfall outside her window.  She brushed a lock of dark hair out of her face – for in the privacy of her own rooms she did not bother with the usual custom of covering her head – and frowned in thought.

She should be happy, she supposed.  After years of waiting, she was at last expecting her first child, the only thing that she and her King could have been said to lack.  But that was its own problem, as they had already begun to argue about what the child might be and what it should be.  A son, the King said, loudly and often: an heir to the throne of their mountain kingdom.  A strong, brave boy to carry out bold deeds to his father’s glory.

A daughter, Morwen would say, to marry the infant Prince who has been born across the pass, and make solid the bonds of peace and friendship between the two kingdoms.  And Kevry would laugh and say that the best peace was the kind won by swords and not shared.

As she mused, she felt a prick in the tip of her finger, and looked down to realize that she had poked herself with her needle.  A drop of blood fell onto the cloth, and she looked at it there, deep red on the white fabric, within the black of the ebony hoop.  She imagined an answering stir within her, as if the child responded to some omen.

Morwen placed a hand to her stomach, and looked out again into the snow.  “A daughter,” she whispered to herself.  “White as snow, and red as blood, and black as ebony.  A sacred daughter, a beautiful daughter.  Not even your father will be able to resist you.”

Another flutter, and then, done with their magic, woman and child were still again.

***

In the summer, a daughter was born.  Her skin was so pale that she was named in the old tongue Lolossi, which meant _white as snow_ ; and so indeed Snow White was what people came to call her.  But her hair was as black as a raven’s wing, and her eyes were clear and bright, and her lips and cheeks were red.  Even as an infant she was quite lovely, so that even King Kevry forgot his initial disappointment at her gender and set seamstresses at once to make little dresses for her out of extravagant fabrics.  He even began to speak of the wisdom of arranging for visits to and from the royal family of the neighboring kingdom, so as to acquaint the children and lay groundwork for a match.

All of this Morwen observed with a contented smile.  But she was weak after the birth, and as days and then weeks passed she remained in her bed, seeming quite unable to recover.  Doctors attended her and swore they could not find any answer.  Kevry fretted to little avail.  Ilraine, most devoted of her ladies-in-waiting, brought her wine to fortify her and help her sleep, and sat by her bedside, but the Queen only grew more wan.  In the end she died.

The King had her buried with all proper grandeur, complete with a shrine built in her honor in the courtyard and surrounded with red roses.  Then he retired into the castle and spoke to no one for two months.

In that time the rest of the royal household worked itself into a panic.  No Queen was bad enough; a recluse King was hardly what was needed.  Advisors who had been thrown out of the King’s presence demanded of the butlers that something be done.  Butlers who had failed to gain the King’s attention gave orders to the servants.  Servants, roundly ignored, pleaded with handmaidens.  Handmaidens, at a complete loss, begged advice from the ladies-in-waiting.

“I will take care of this,” said Ilraine at last, and everyone relaxed, at least enough to watch her expectantly.  Ilraine was as efficient as she was magnetic; if she said she could do something, then surely she would.

She dressed herself in her richest colors and her deepest-plunging necklines.  She touched her most seductive perfumes to her throat.  She curled her golden hair into lush arrangements, where her locks seemed to beg to be freed from their jeweled combs and petted.  Then, with the key she had long since contrived to have copied, she let herself into the King’s private quarters, where she found him sitting in a chair with his hands quietly folded, seeming at a loss for what to do with himself.

“Your Majesty?” she whispered.

He started.  “Oh.  Ilraine.”  He looked away from her, but then looked back again, long and hard, with the interest she had expected.

“Your people are worried.  They do not know when you mean to come out.”

“Of course,” he blustered, “of course.  Just—”  He scratched at his greyed temples.  He was a good ten years older than Morwen had been, fifteen older than Ilraine.  “I don’t suppose we were a romance for the ages, or anything like that.  I just…I just don’t know what to do now.”

“I understand,” Ilraine purred, stalking closer.  “A man requires a woman for so many things, doesn’t he?  A strong woman to help him think clearly…a lovely woman he can drown his troubles in at night.”  She came close enough to touch.  “Perhaps it has not occurred to you yet, Your Majesty, but in fact there are women in your court who would be willing to serve your needs.”

He looked at her even more intently now, and she knew that here was where the push must stop.  She had watched Morwen rule Kevry for long enough to know the rules; he must still feel that he was master, that whatever came next was his own idea and not hers.

“You _are_ King, after all,” she added, more demurely now.  “And we are all of us bound to serve you in whatever way you desire.  As of yet you have not used this power to console yourself; and yet you cannot have forgotten it.”

“No,” he said, pulling himself upright with mild indignation, the correct response to the prompt.  “No, of course I haven’t.”

“You are no weakling, whatever they have begun to whisper.  You are the master of this domain.”

“Naturally I am!  And who has been saying otherwise?”  She had his dander up now: he rose to his feet, and his voice was harsh.

So she lowered hers more.  “I do not know where it began,” she answered, shyly averting her eyes, “but the question arises more and more among the servants.  They have forgotten your strength, Your Majesty, for they have not seen it.  They do not remember who is their master.  But I do.”  She curtsied low, making sure to lean at such an angle that the most was made of her cleavage.

“But you do, eh?  You remember who your master is?”

She glanced up, carefully, as if trying to watch the sun without being blinded.  “Of course I do, Your Majesty.  You have only to command me, and I will obey.”

His breath was sharp.  “I have watched you for years, Ilraine.  Do you know that?”

“No,” she lied.

“You are really quite striking.  In fact, I believe you may be the loveliest woman I have ever seen.”  He held out his hand.  “Come then, and I will test your obedience.”

She placed an artfully trembling hand in his and allowed him to pull her back up to her feet.  He turned her sharply away from him, then pressed himself up against her from behind.  Slowly, he took the combs from her hair with one hand while he held her in place at the waist with the other.  He threw the combs carelessly toward the table and passed his fingers slowly through her hair, his breath ragged.  His hand passed down over her throat and paused there as the other hand strayed upward toward her left breast, stroking at the silks that covered it. 

Then he released her throat and brought that hand downward, pulling up the back of her skirts by handfuls until he had access to the regions underneath, where he rubbed against her buttock, panting now.  She could feel his passion rising and pressing against her; she could feel the tension in his breath as he watched her for her reaction.  She gave a small, submissive sigh and rolled her head back towards him.

Now his fingers strayed between her cheeks and around toward the front, and finding refuge, pressed into her once, then pumped there several times more, coating themselves with her moisture.  “Do you object?” he muttered into her ear.

“I am yours to command, Your Majesty,” she whispered into the open air.  Immediately he bit at her throat, with more fire than she had expected, and for the first time she cried out in earnest.  But then she acclimated to his roughness, and hummed more decorously as she held his head aside to allow his biting and sucking up and down the length of her neck.  Suddenly, he withdrew and began the work of untying the back of her dress.  Then he spun her quickly around again.

“Take off your dress for me,” he commanded.  She obliged, her eyes cast downward as if she were slightly timid but obedient as she eased the gown from her shoulders and lowered it over her body, slowly so as to maximize the effect as it revealed the pale honey of her skin.  Slowly, to give adequate time to appreciate the gentle shoulders…the round, pert breasts with their perfect, tea-colored nipples…the narrow waist…the soft outward curve of her hips and her childless belly…the deep burnished gold of her pubic hair, a particular point of pride…the soft but smooth thighs and calves.

“Turn,” he said, his voice much throatier now.  She slowly turned in place, allowing him the pleasure of viewing all angles, as not one, she knew, was unflattering.  She allowed an extra beat or two for appreciation of her backside, its full round cheeks being another of her own favorite portions.

“Sit on the table.”  She did so.  “Now…touch yourself.”

“Your Majesty?” she pretended not to know quite what he meant.

“Your breasts.  Your…er, maidenhead.  Display them to me.  Fondle them.”

She hesitated just enough, gave a nod, and swept her delicate hands over her breasts, stroking the nipples with her index fingers, then pinching them gently and sighing.  She let her mouth rest slightly open and half-closed her eyes to show both her submission and her rising passion.  Slowly she spread her legs apart, so that those lips opened just slightly as well, revealing the brown and glimmering inner folds as she continued to tease her nipples into hardness for him.  She glanced up at him as if to confirm his command, and he nodded in answer.  She very gradually snaked one hand down toward the place her maidenhead had, in fact, long since departed; but she stroked at her inner lips, and at the place where they met – not enough to accomplish much; not too expertly, lest he suspect her virtue – but gently, timorously, as if he had caused her to discover some frightening but wonderful new place.  With each new touch she gasped, suggesting surprise and trepidation as well as pleasure.  (For the pleasure was genuine enough:  she had not perfected this means of making her way in the world without learning to genuinely enjoy it.)

Through her half-closed lids she could see him responding with a surreptitious rubbing at his own member, through his clothes.  “Enough,” he said, and cleared his throat.  “Come down from there and come to me.”  She obeyed, her eyes still decorously aimed at the floor.  “Kneel,” he said, and she did.  He opened his pants to her and revealed a fairly sized penis, perhaps the length of her hand, that listed very slightly to the right.  The head was quite thick, moreso than the shaft, although that was not too slender.  She knew to gasp and glance up at him questioningly.

“Take it into your mouth,” he ordered.

She hesitated, as she was supposed to do.  He twined his fingers into her hair and pulled her toward him, forcing her head down onto him until his entire length had vanished into her open throat.  He pushed and pulled at her with growing vehemence, and she closed her eyes and stroked the tip of her tongue along the groove, making sure to imply with her whimpers that this was difficult and intimidating, though secretly exciting.  He groaned in rhythm, then abruptly he pulled her off of him before he had finished, and took her hands to bring her to her feet.

Now he sat her on the table himself, and madly ran his hands up and down the length of her body, and his mouth followed.  He bit and pulled at her nipples, pulled at her pubic hair, pumped several fingers into her again, and this time on removing them turned his hand and tried one moistened finger in her asshole.  She squealed, and he gave a ferocious laugh, and once more pulled her down from the table and turned her around.  This time he slammed her down across the table and thrust himself into her, hard and fast, holding her ass with both hands and using it to pull her down harder onto him.  She remembered to cry out as if he had pierced her; and this seemed pleasing to him, and he growled and pumped the harder for it.  She had taken care to keep herself tight enough to make the passage feel at least nearly virgin.  She held herself up on her arms and moaned long, the sound broken by the fierce rhythm of his movement.  “Aah – aah – aah – aah – ”

Suddenly he roared, and his rhythm fell apart as his regal seed exploded into her, claimed utterly by her false submission.  She gave one last weary sigh and collapsed onto the table.

But he pulled her upright, and again fondled her breasts from behind, now more gently.  “And what do you say now?” he whispered.  “Am I still your lord?  Do you serve me?”

“Mmmm.  Completely, Your Majesty.”

“If I should call for you again,” he went on, “you will come to me.  You will come ready to serve me in this way again.  Whenever I call you.  What do you think of that?”

“I am yours alone, Your Majesty.  If my service pleases you, then that is my pleasure.”

“Though I should despoil you?  Though I should ruin your virtue for all other men?”

Hardly; but she said, “You are my King and my master.  What other man is there?”

“Excellent.”  He turned her to face him and kissed her deeply, his tongue probing her mouth.  She answered, again with less skill than she really possessed, but with enough to demonstrate the depth of her devotion.

***

By springtime, she was the Queen.

By now, she had learned much more about her sovereign, including the real reason that Morwen had dressed so conservatively:  the King had a fixation on purity, on claiming what was otherwise untouched.  He never tired of her game of pretending to be naïve and virginal, even after they had been together enough times to destroy that illusion, even had it originally been true.  He liked her to gasp and protest and resist, only ever so slightly – it was not really in him to apply real force, naturally, so any resistance had to be carefully measured; hesitation and feigned innocence were usually the key elements.  He also preferred for her to dress down in court, her hair covered, most of her skin invisible, all her treasures kept aside for him alone.

She was getting rather bored with it, really; and surely, even for him, the fun would have to diminish eventually.  But little matter by then, she supposed, for now she was Queen, and unlike Morwen she was canny enough to do away with any competition down the road.

Being Queen, in and of itself, had its good and bad sides.  The power over the rest of the household (and everyone else, for that matter) was an undeniable plus.  She enjoyed being seen at court functions – what of her _could_ still be seen, but there it was, she would have to come up with a solution later – although the company was often rather tedious.  She found the royal family of the kingdom at the other side of the mountain pass, whom of course they had to see most frequently, particularly tiresome.  Quite _earnest_ they were, nearly to the point of being completely artless; except that as years went by, she noticed that the little Prince might not be so.  Oh earnest, like the others, certainly, dismayingly sincere for the most part.  But not incapable of more proper court flattery, as he grew older, and not a bad one to look at either.  _Our little charmer_ his family insisted on calling him, _our Prince Charming_ , as if that was clever.  His name was Aven.

Aven was going to be an attractive young man, it was apparent very early in his life.  He had a mop of chestnut hair and sparkling hazel eyes and, even when very small, a mischief-making smile, even though there was not really a great deal of real mischief in him.  As he grew, he grew tall and straight, and by the time he was in his teens, Ilraine could see in him a man who would be worth switching kingdoms to get.

The problem was Snow White; she was also growing up attractive, nay radiant, ungodly beautiful.  By the time she was seven, everyone commented on what a great beauty she already was.  By the time she was fourteen, her breasts already swelling to surprising fullness, it was all they could do to keep lecherous men off of her, even as her father dressed her in increasingly outlandish clothes trying to hide her shape.  She was also sweet, and shockingly impervious to offense, and completely blind to the unwholesomeness of the attention she attracted.

Ilraine had even, to her great displeasure, started to notice a certain telltale gleam in the King’s own eye when he beheld his daughter.  But Snow White doted on him, and gave the remainder of her time and attention to her triply chaperoned visits from Aven.

When Snow White was sixteen, the day came that Ilraine had feared.  As a wedding present the King had given her a great treasure from a faroff land, a full length mirror that could speak. 

At their wedding banquet, he had had it uncovered with a great flourish and said loudly to the mirror and all the guests, “Who is the fairest of all women?”

The mirror had whispered in answer, “Ilraine.”  The guests had gaped and wondered, and Ilraine had beamed and called it the finest of all presents and kept it in a place of honor in her rooms.

Only today, it stopped saying “Ilraine.”

Today, Ilraine stood before it – only forty, not so old at all, still quite shapely and soft and without even a single grey hair – and she asked, “Who is the fairest of all women?”

And the mirror said, “Snow White.”

Ilraine went forth with an inchoate growl in her throat and was horrible to people all day.

The next day the answer was the same:  “Snow White.”  She had hoped, illogically, for some kind of fluke.  The change had been some sort of peculiar error that would go away the next day, surely.  No.  “Snow White” again, and then again the next time, and the next.

And at dinner, the child’s father looked down at her with a bit more affection than was strictly proper in his eyes, and said to Ilraine, “She is quite breathtaking, isn’t she?  It’s as if she’s Morwen’s and your child and none of mine.”  He laughed; she supposed he thought it a compliment.

She smiled as best she could.  “She is charming, of course.  And very much your daughter.”  She picked up a bottle of merlot.  “Now, will you have another drink, Your Majesty?”

“Yes.  I mean, well,” he frowned, and leaned in to whisper to her.  “I don’t know about this vintage.  Does it seem to you that it’s been since we acquired this vintage that I’ve, you know, had so much trouble?  With that?”

She beamed.  “Oh, don’t be foolish.  It’s got nothing to do with wine – you’ve drunk it all your life.  You _are_ getting older, after all, my love.  I’m sure the doctors will find some cure, or the men you’ve sent into the wilderness will bring back some wild herb to make a man potent again.  And I will wait patiently, my devotion to you undimmed.”  She poured him the drink.

He sighed and took it.  “Of course you’re right.  You are too kind to me.”  He patted her on the knee.  Then he rubbed at it under the table, stroked a little way up her thigh – and sighed, and took back his hand, and drank.

He drank, and looked down again at the rare flower that had come of his first wife.  Snow White.  So utterly beautiful, and so completely unaware of the effect of her beauty.  So perfect.

And so the thought came again into his mind that he knew should not: that if he were still truly a man he should have been the one to teach her.

He could imagine the scene perfectly.  He would go to her of an evening, when it would be private, and she would be dressed only in her sheer, white nightgown.  He would dimly see her shape, her curves, her dark thatch of womanly hair underneath the fabric.  She would welcome him gladly, escort him to a chair (after he had secretly locked the door behind him), and sit in his lap.  She would wrap her arms around his neck, and he would feel her sweet breath on him.

He would wrap his arms tenderly around her waist at first, lightly touching the first swell of her young hip, and she would see no harm in that.  “Tonight,” he would say, “I have something very important to share with you, my darling.”

“Is it a present, daddy?” she would smile.

“It is a present of a sort, but it is more than that.  It is a lesson.”

“A lesson?  What lesson do you have for me that I have not had from my tutor?”

He would run his hands up her arms and look into her dazzling face.  “Now that you are growing into a woman,” he would say, “men will wish certain things of you.  I have seen you, my love, and I know that you do not understand them.  If I show you, you will not be surprised.  You will not be frightened.”

She would frown.  “Why should I be frightened, daddy?”

“You should not be.  But you will not know what to do, what to expect, without being taught.  That is all.  And if you are frightened, you will be…less comfortable.  So I wish to teach you.”

She would nod, her dark lips pouting a little in thought.  “Very well, daddy.  Please teach me.  What will these men want of me?”

“I will show you.  First, you must kiss me.”  She would laugh and give him his usual peck on the cheek, and he would shake his head.  “No, that is a father’s kiss.  The kiss you give a man must be different.  Mouth to mouth.  Like this.”  He would kiss her, just softly, tenderly, on her red mouth.  A second time, and then a third, longer and softer, and then he would say, “And then he will kiss you deeper.  Your mouths will open, and he may touch the tip of his tongue to yours.  You see?” he would say as she curled her nose at the idea of tongues touching.  “This is why I must show you, Snow White.  You mustn’t curl your nose that way at your husband.  Here, we shall try it.”

He would touch the back of her head, and pull her puzzled but willing face toward him; and then he would kiss her deeper, stroking her tongue with his, gently moving his mouth over hers as he caressed the back of her neck, touched her black hair.

As he stopped, she would look at him with her eyes alight, and whisper, “I think I understand, daddy.  What must we do next?”

“Next he will touch you all over, like this.”  He would run his hands over her growing breasts, feeling how they hung slightly, heavy at the bottom; he would touch her soft stomach and her firm cheeks and her slender thighs.  Her breathing would grow heavy, and she would watch him in growing wonder at the strange sensations she felt, unsure of what to do next.  He would kiss her again, harder and deeper, stroking her body as he did so; and helpless, she would tighten her arms around his neck and press herself against him.  All at once he would rise, holding her in his arms, and carry her to her bed, and put her down there.  He would lift her nightgown and see her, ah, see every part of her, the small dark thatch of hair just starting to spread around her small, half-grown lips and from beneath her arms, the milkwhite skin of her breasts, her little pink nipples already standing firm.  He would gently push her legs apart to reveal another pinkness, a tiny button sheltered where the petals of her still-blossoming flower met together.  He would kneel before this, reverent.

“Daddy?” she would breathe, her breasts rising and falling with her rapid breath.

“It’s all right,” he would soothe her, pushing her back.  “Now you should lie down.  I am going to touch a special part of your body now; the most precious jewel you have.  Only I and your husband should ever be allowed this part of you, because it is holy.”  He would gently stroke the pearl with a dampened finger, and watch her writhe and squeal.

“Oh, daddy, it feels strange!  But I like it.”

“Of course you do.  I can also kiss it…like this.”  He would bend down and stroke her with his tongue, then take the whole juncture of pearl and lip into his mouth and suck on it, as she bucked and kicked and gasped.  He would take hold of her legs to keep her still, but her upper body would continue to spasm.  He would pause for only a second to say, “Cover your mouth.  You will want to scream soon, but you should not.”  And he would begin again, smiling as he listened to the growling sounds of her screams being strangled in her throat, his good girl trying to be quiet even as he made it nearly impossible for her.  He would put just one finger into her, and even that would be a tight fit, so young and untested would it be.  And he would suck and move his finger, and slowly pull at the tight ring that protected her from him, preparing it to break.

“Do you feel this?” he would ask when he had tired of licking at her.  His finger would still be working inside her; as the ring stretched, he would try for two.  “This is where I will give you your present.  This is where you will feel all of my love for you.  Shall I bring out your present now?”

“Yes daddy,” she would moan, nodding her head.

He would pull her up to sit for a moment, and take out his penis for her.  “This is my manhood,” he would explain to her.  “It is made to fit inside of you.”  He would reach for her hand and have her touch it.  She would stroke it very softly, haltingly, with her long white fingers, around the tip.

“But it’s so big,” she would whisper.  “It’s big, daddy.  How will it fit?”

“We will be careful,” he would answer.  “I have tried to stretch you out a little.  It may sting a bit at first, but you must try to relax and remember that what you are feeling is your daddy’s love.  Can you do that?”  She would nod.  “Good girl.  I will give you a new dress when we are finished.  Now, kiss it first, for luck.”  He would hold it out for her, and she would touch her soft red lips to the tip, and he would feel an even greater surge of hardness. 

He would push her back down onto the bed, and kiss each of her pink nipples in turn.  He would work his fingers inside her again for a moment; and then, very slowly, he would press his penis through the ring of flesh.

“Oh,” she would gasp, her eyes wide with sudden fear, and her fingers would clutch at the blankets beneath her.  “Oh, daddy….”

“I know, darling,” he would whisper into her ear, kissing her throat between words.  “Try to relax.  It’ll be all right.”

He would press deeper, and she would pant at the exertion of accepting him into her, and clutch now at his back, a single tear in her eye.  “Daddyyyy….”

“Ssh.”  And he would begin to move, almost instantly lost in the bliss of her tightness and the rhythm of taking her.  He would cover her mouth to help her be quiet, kissing the tears from her face  as she closed her eyes, overwhelmed by him.  “Ssh.”  She would moan and lie still, trying to relax, too inexperienced to try to move herself in time with him.  He would reach back and take up one of her legs and hold it up, to stretch her open further as he thrust into her again, again and deeper.  As he held her leg with one hand and himself up with the other, her mouth would be free, and she would groan and cry and touch his face and his chest.  And at that, he would unleash himself on her completely; he would pump into her fiercely, wickedly, so that at each thrust he knocked the tip of his penis into the flesh that blocked her womb.  He would feel her tight flesh rippling, spasming around him, and he would come in overpowering waves, again and again, covering her mouth with his, dropping her leg, holding down her shaking hands with his hands.

At last he would soften, lying on top of her, as she wept into his shoulder.  “I love you, daddy,” she would whisper to him, sobbing in pain and ecstasy.

“I love you too, baby girl,” he would answer as he withdrew.  He would look down at her twitching body, at her budding womanhood, swollen and throbbing and wet; and he would see drops of blood on her thigh and on her sheet.  And something about that sight would always move him strangely:  the white flesh, and the black hair, and the red drops of her blood; _not even your father will be able to resist you_ ….

It was magical….

It was never to be.

He came to the abrupt realization that he was still sitting in the hall, where his daughter danced oblivious to his desires, and his manhood dangled useless and unmoved by even his deepest fantasies.  He buried his sorrow in another glass of wine, and his wife smiled.

 


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Ilraine takes a crack at her stepdaughter's boyfriend, Prince Aven. He rejects her, strikes out with Snow, and retreats into a fantasy we must all agree is more wholesome than the last one we read. Also, Ilraine gives Snow a misleading dose of sex education.

Snow White giggled, and then moved the Queen.  “Checkmate.”

Aven raised his eyebrows and sighed.  “I’m not sure it’s right for you to _laugh_ at me when I lose.”

“I’m sorry.  I just didn’t expect you to fall into the trap so easily.”  She giggled again.

“Fine, fine.  Two out of three, then?”

“Yes please!”

They started to reassemble their pieces.  They both reached for the rook that had cost him the game at the same time, and their fingers touched.  Lingered there for a moment.

Several coughs from the edges of the room.

Aven looked around at the dozen armed guards – mostly women and old men, he always noticed – who surrounded them on all four sides, scowling in at their accidental touch from against the walls.  He frowned back, and removed the rook from both the square and Snow White’s grasp, and placed it in its proper corner.  He made an exaggerated gesture toward it, _there! happy?_ with his hands and returned to sorting out the other pieces.

He leaned forward a little and whispered, “Are they really always like this?”

She leaned toward him, smiling.  “Who?”

“Who?  Them!”  He glanced sidelong to one side and the other, to direct her attention to them without turning his head.  He continued to fiddle with the chess pieces.

“Oh!”  She shrugged.  “Like what?”

“That’s a yes, I suppose.  Gods of mercy!  I think I would lose my mind.”

She laughed.  “Why?  Aren’t you used to having other people around in your court?”

“Around, yes.  But they’re not nearly so… _attentive_.  I mean, gods, Snow!” his whisper became a bit too loud and passionate not to carry, and he reached a hand toward her.  “They act as if I’m here to _kill_ you, when all I want is to – ”

There were three “Ahems” and four people stepping forward toward them, so he sat back and finished with a sarcastic glare to the rest of his audience, “To play chess and various other perfectly harmless, innocent, non-lethal things.”

“Oh!” she said again, and she looked around at them, still standing around them a bit less at ease than before.  “I guess I’d never thought of it that way.  Why, I suppose I don’t know what the matter is, now that you mention it.”  She turned to the nearest of them, a man who looked nearly seventy.  “Reg?  Why _are_ you all so nervous when Aven visits me?  Do you think he means me harm?”

Reg coughed.  “Not harm, precisely, Your Highness.  It’s by your parents’ orders, if you please.  Just a precaution.  You _are_ the Princess, after all.”

“Well, Daddy and Ilraine don’t have half as many guards, except when they go out of the castle.  They’re the King and Queen.  They have four at home – and I have eight, even when Aven isn’t here.  Even when nobody’s here but our own court.  Isn’t that funny?”

“You are much younger than they are,” Reg suggested.  “You have much less experience in, er, defending yourself than they have.”

“From what?”

Reg was saved from this question by the arrival of Snow White’s tutor, come to call her away for geography.

“I shall see you one last time, tonight at dinner,” she said as she rose, her skirts rearranging themselves around her feet.  “I’ll miss you tomorrow.”  She kissed her delicate hand to him, then trotted away with her teacher and the majority of her guards.

Reg loitered for a moment, and Aven took the opportunity.  “Normally eight, when I’m not here?  It’s not all only me, then?”

“Oh, no, Highness.  It’s our standard policy.  Their Majesties are very concerned about preserving Her Highness’ honor.”

“You know, I can’t imagine she even knows how she would lose it.”

“It doesn’t matter.  She has a power, surely you’ve noticed it.  Surely you’ve noticed who her guards are.  She has a great power over men, and no notion of what to do with it or how to control it.  And so she’s guarded.  It’s sensible enough, Highness.”

“You’re a man,” Aven countered.  “Are you immune?”

“Alas yes, ten years since,” Reg sighed.  “I’ve lost all inclinations of that sort, and that’s why they hired me.  And yet still, she makes me remember when I had them.” 

He smiled in a way that Aven did not entirely like, so the Prince hastily changed the subject.  “Yes.  Well.  And when _is_ dinner?”

***

At dinner she had changed into one of those ridiculous things her father liked her to wear:  half a dozen colors, and sleeves that puffed out a foot in all directions, repelling all comers, to say nothing of the fullness of the skirts.

And all quite pointless, Aven mused, since it still pulled in at the waist to show its narrowness in comparison to the fullness above and below, and since she still had her glowing skin and her raven hair and her sweet smile to make her dazzling no matter what injustice had been done to her by her clothing.  Remarkable.

He was seated across the way from her:  they were betrothed by arrangement, after all.  However little physical contact was allowed between them, clearly there was to be social contact.  He and his parents across from her and hers, and a pile of food between, preventing any untoward behavior, together with the throng of other nobles around the rest of the tables in the room.  So, at least the guards were fewer.

His father was prattling on and on about something.  Aven leaned back and sighed, and his feet slid a little bit forward.  His feet touched against something soft.  A leg?  He was about to jerk himself back when he saw Snow White smile, just a little, at him.

Ah.

“I can’t _listen,_ ” and here he tapped his foot very gently against her ankle, “to another of these stories, Father.  I _do,_ ” another tap, “wonder if _you_ would switch to a topic we can all _understand?_ ”

Snow White nodded her head slightly.  But Aven’s father scowled at him.  “My, but you’re rude this evening, Aven.  Whatever has gotten into you?”

“I’m sorry, Father.  I just have this _sneak_ ing feeling that even though we’re going _away_ in the morning, Snow and I will barely get to say a word to each other _tonight._ ”

“I’m sure we _will,_ ” said Snow, rolling her ankle sideways so as to press it against his foot.  “But after all you must _try_ first.  Pray don’t disrespect your father!  I can’t imagine _where_ you get your manners?”  She smirked at him.

“Thank you, Lolossi!” Aven’s father smiled.  “It is good to know that some sense of courtesy may come into our own household through you.”

“Sorry, Father.  Here now,” he said, waving down a servant, “we should send the rest of these pasties to _Mother’s_ end of the table.  I’ve eaten so many I could have built a _shrine_ out of them; I fear I shall be up past _midnight_ trying to digest them all.”

His message was delivered, and all soon returned to rights: his father babbling, hers drinking, his mother drinking, her stepmother looking round observing the other three with a canny look in her eye.

On his release from dinner, he was left to wait an unnerving number of hours in his quarters.  Pacing.  Checking his clothes to make sure he was wearing something she would like.  Pacing.  Having a glass of water.  Checking his clothes again.  Looking out of the window to see how late it was getting.  Sitting and fidgeting for a moment.  Rising and pacing again.

Answering the knock at the door.  “You should n— _you?_ ”

For hurrying into his room and closing the door behind her was not Snow White but Ilraine.  “Yes,” she whispered with a husky voice, “me.  I hope that is all right, Aven.”

He stepped back from her.  “And what may I do for you, Majesty?  I was about to go to bed.”

“Of course you were,” she purred, “and I regret disturbing you so late, but you see, my husband is quite odd about certain things, and he hates for me to talk overmuch with your family on my own.  I have barely had a chance to get to know you, and in only a few months you will be of age, and then you might any day come asking us for my stepdaughter.”

“That’s true.  Have you come with questions for me, then?”

“Oh! nothing as formal as that.”  She gave a laugh that he supposed was meant to sound casual but did not.  “But I would like to know more about you, that is all.  And I would like you to know more about me.  Ah, just a moment.”  She reached up and pulled the cover from her head, and shook out a rich cloud of golden hair.  “How I hate to wear that thing!  It’s so old-fashioned, but there you are, one of my husband’s eccentricities.”

“It’s a shame.  You have very lovely hair.”

She beamed at him.  “Why thank you, Aven.  One does like a bit of appreciation.”  She tossed herself into a seated position on the side of his bed, and sighed, and looked up at him.  “Would you call me an attractive woman, then?”

Aven blushed.  “I don’t see why you need to ask me that, Majesty.”

“Ilraine, please.  We are going to be family.”

“Ilraine, then.  Anyone can see that you’re an enchanting woman.”

She smiled wider.  “You know that the quickest way to a woman’s heart is flattery.  Do you flatter me, Aven?”

He hesitated.  “No.  I am telling you the truth.  And I think you know that well.  Why are you asking me?”

“I did not seek to burden you with my troubles, dear Aven,” she sighed, “but I do not know that as well as I once did.  My husband hides me behind veils so that I half forget my own beauty, keen to hide it from other men; and yet he makes no use of it himself.  He has not touched me in months.”

“I…am sorry to hear that.” 

She rose and moved close to him, a little closer than he would have expected or wanted, and he stood awkwardly frozen as she pressed even nearer than that.  “Do you know what that is like?  To have so much to offer to a man…and no man to whom to offer it?”  She touched her hands to his shoulders, and he jumped back as if a shock had passed between them.

“All the same,” he cried, trying not to fall backwards over some fool thing he had left on the floor to trip over, “you are a married woman.”

“Only in name.  Don’t be frightened!  He will never know I have been here.  He sleeps very deeply.”  She looked him slowly up and down, and smiled.  “I can see that you are beginning to desire me, Aven; and that is natural.  It is right.”  He had backed into the wardrobe, and she softly touched his shoulder again with one hand, pinning him there with more will than physical force.  “You need not be ashamed.”

“I am engaged to your daughter.”

Her smile fell a little, became a little bit false.  “Stepdaughter.”  She shook it off and continued her advance, now pressing the length of her body against his.  “You are not a married man yet.”

She touched her lips to his face, just off to one side from his mouth, and then to the other, and then kissed him fully, blossoming easily, easily persuading him to follow.  He could feel every inch of her, every swell and hollow, and his own body stirring into alertness, urging him to take this chance, idiot, taste this when you know there will be no other tonight, nothing awaiting you below but smiles and promises from one too innocent to know what it was she promised….

He pushed her back from him.  “Ilraine.”  His breathing was slightly labored.  “I would lie if I said you did not tempt me.  You are beautiful, and I am sure that – ”

“I am,” she agreed.  “And I know many things, child.  I can show you many things that you do not yet know, let alone the infant to whom we have betrothed you.”

He strangled the disappointment of his lower self and answered, “Yes, I do not doubt you.  And yet I cannot.  I will not do it.  I will have a walk, Ilraine; the cool night air will return me to my senses.  I will have a guard show me back to my rooms afterward; and so I am certain that you will have gone by that time.  I will not tell anyone what happened.”

He turned with as much dignity as he could manage and walked away, and heard only the beginning of the Queen’s furious growls as he closed the door behind him.

***

In the center of the courtyard was a wide pagoda made of pillars of dark marble, surrounded by a thick hedge of roses except in one narrow place, which opened into the center, where on a pedestal was a statue of a woman whose loveliness and gently rounded face were vaguely similar to those of the girl who stood beneath them, who turned to face him with petulance.

“You’re late,” she chided him.  “I was afraid you’d played a joke on me.”

“No, of course not!” he said, and stepped forward and took both her hands – there, already, more contact than he was usually allowed.  They were soft and fine.  “I was just, well, detained for a moment, that’s all.  Did anyone see you?”

“No.”  She beamed.  “I was very clever.  But how were you detained?  Did someone see you?”

“Well…I did speak with your stepmother for just a moment.”  He hesitated.  “I don’t trust her, Snow,” he said quietly.  “I don’t think she means well, to your father or to you.  I can’t say exactly why.  Will you be careful of her?”

“I don’t understand what you mean.  What is it you think that she would do?”

“I don’t know.  It’s only a feeling that I have – I don’t think you’re quite safe here, and it’s for a completely different reason than what all your stupid guards are watching for.  They are here to protect you from _me_ , when I am the last person in the world to mean you harm.  Do you trust me, Snow?”

She smiled bright as morning.  “Of course I do, Aven.  I love you.”

Ah, it was like iron bars around his chest when she was like that.  He ran his hands up her arms, as far as the absurd sleeves would allow.  “Then be careful of her.  Listen – in September I will be eighteen and a grown man.  On exactly that day I will come here for you, and I will not leave until you are given as my bride and I can carry you away from here.  Until then, mind yourself around her.  Do not be with her alone.  All right?”

She shrugged.  “She has had sixteen years to do me harm, Aven, and the older I am, the harder it must become.  Surely if she wanted to, she would have done something long ago.  But I can see that you are very worried about this.  Very well, I will be careful of her, if it pleases you.  And I will look forward to being carried away.”

Aven nodded.  Snow White wasn’t stupid by any means – she nearly always beat him at chess, for example – but she was peculiarly trusting.  She would, however, keep her word now that he had it.  “Good,” he said, and pulled her closer to him, so that as he bent his head down toward her their foreheads touched.  “And do you know what we will do then?”

As if perfectly on cue, she turned her head upward at an ideally kissable angle.  “What?”

He touched a hand to her cool cheek, and pulled across the remaining inches until her lips found his: softer than rose petals, and faintly sweet, as well designed to draw him in as other flowers were to attract bees.  She closed her eyes and instinctively moved her lips gently in rhythm with his.  Gently she put her hands on his shoulders.  Already he could feel his blood quickening in response.  Encouraged, he moved his hands down to her hips and rubbed up and down the small of her back as he kissed her, brushing the higher part of her haunches where they first blossomed outward; then he pulled her closer to him, pressing her body against his.

Even through who could know how many underskirts, he could feel some sense of her shape, slender-waisted but rounded quite pleasantly in other places.  Her breasts, generous and full for her size and age, pressed up hard against his chest, and he tightened his grip around her waist to hold her tight there.

“Ow!” she breathed, and pulled her face the barest fraction away from his.  “Something hard has bumped against my hip.  Are you carrying a dagger?”

He was considering the most tactful answer when they heard voices out in the courtyard.  “We mustn’t be seen here,” he whispered into her ear.  “Remember to be careful.  I will come for you as soon as I can.”  He disentangled himself from her, kissed both her hands because to kiss her mouth again would have caused him to stay there until they were caught half-naked under a bush, and fled into the darkness.

***

“There!” said Ilraine.  “Where did you find her?”

“Out at her mother’s shrine in the courtyard,” said Reg.  “She was alone, Your Majesty.”

“Very well.  You may all go.”

“No,” said Snow White, much to the Queen’s shock.  “They see and hear all else that I do.  They may remain to hear whatever we will say here.  I am sure that you and my father did not place me in the care of people they did not trust?”

Canny, thought Ilraine, very canny for one who is supposed to be so guileless.  “As you wish it, then, dear.  I did not wish to chastise you in front of an audience, but I will grant you your wishes.  Why were you out in the courtyard so late?”

“I am feeling sad that Aven is leaving tomorrow; and I go out to the shrine whenever I am sad.  I feel the love of my mother there, and it comforts me.”

“Ah.  And why are you so sad at Aven’s departure?  He always returns.”

“But I think that he will be gone for months, and not return until his birthday.”

“Ah.”  Ilraine brushed one finger casually back and forth across the arm of her throne.  “Are you really in such a hurry to be grown, poor Snow White?  Do you not know how great is the burden of an adult woman, especially if a man fancies her?”  She glanced around knowingly at the guards.  None of them would be so surprised by this tactic; it would not be so far beyond what any number of peasant women told their stupid daughters to keep their legs shut.

“What sort of burden do you mean?”

“Men hurt women, my darling.  They hurt us as a matter of course.”

“That is ridiculous.  Aven would never hurt me.”

Ilraine snickered.  “He must.  Men are born wicked, poor girl.  There is a part of them that lies quiet much of the time, but at times – when they are in sight of a lovely young woman, for example – that part swells with wickedness and hurt; and when that happens, they can think of nothing else but to quench it.  And that they can only do by invading the bodies of women.”

She rose and walked down to Snow White, who was looking at her with great confusion in her face.  “This part must hide itself in a hole,” she went on, “and there burst and flood out its evil.  But what hole?  There are few options.  Here is one,” she said, touching one finger to Snow White’s mouth.  “Here a man might force himself upon you, filling your mouth and throat and choking you, stretching your poor jaw to soreness, as the filthy hair that grows around the spot gags you with its stench; and then you will actually _taste_ his evil as it spills out onto your tongue.  The second way,” she continued, now lightly touching one buttock through the layers of fabric as Snow White stared at her wide-eyed, “is one you will have thought dedicated to another purpose, the banishment of your own filth.  Perhaps, then, you can imagine how pleasant that option may be.”

She stood in very close to Snow White now, and lowered her voice.  “The third is directly between your thighs,” she said, “and most men desire this one above all else, beyond sanity.  But naturally, your body does not seek to allow evil into it; and this place has a barrier all around it, a fortress of tight flesh, seeking to protect you.  But a sufficiently wicked man will force his way past that, and you will cry and bleed and suffer great pain.”

She stood silent for a moment, watching Snow White ponder her frightening words.  “Your father guards you,” she concluded, “and dresses you so queerly, because your form inspires great wickedness in men.  We seek to protect you from the pain and anguish that befalls most fair young women.  But this is what Aven wishes of you, my innocent one.”

Snow White was frowning, deep in thought.  “Does…does Daddy hurt you?” she murmured.

“Ah!  He used to.  In his youth his wickedness was very great; it would swell up to a great size, and I could barely walk afterward from the pain.  But age and piety have quenched it, and now we live together in peace.  However, his piety has come at great cost.  It was in wickedness that you were planted in your mother’s belly – I am afraid that is why you inspire it so easily, my dear – and it was the same wickedness that killed her when she gave birth to you.”

Now she looked horrified, her eyes threatening moisture.  “Do you mean that I am wicked?  I do not feel wicked!”

“But if you felt wicked,” Ilraine countered, “then piety would save you.  But being wicked, you have not enough piety to feel how wicked you are.  We have tried to protect you from your own wickedness, that calls out the evil in others.  We have hoped that this would be enough to let you learn to be pious.  But perhaps it is better that I tell you; now you will understand what we must do.  You must do nothing to tempt these men, or appeal to your own base vanity.  You must wear no makeup or perfume.”

“But I have never worn them.”

Ilraine looked for a moment at the girl’s spotless skin and smelled the faint scent of roses that lingered around her, swallowed the bile, and went on.  “And you will never begin.  More must be needed.  These gowns, with all their colors, draw the eye to you even though they try to hide your shape.  We must try clothing you much more simply:  rough fabrics that discourage one to touch them, in dull shades of brown and grey.  Perhaps we will cut your hair short; and we will give you work to do, to harden your muscles and roughen your hands.  That will also serve as your own penance, and perhaps you will be saved from an awful fate that way.”

“All will be as you say,” Snow White muttered down toward the floor.  “I do not want to curse myself or Aven.  I want to learn how we can live in love and peace.  Teach me to protect us from this terror.”

“I will, most precious child,” Ilraine smiled.

*** 

Aven’s twice-foiled libido avenged itself on him in his dreams.

Ilraine and Snow White were sitting in a field of flowers, bright sunlight playing through the Queen’s radiant hair and across Snow White’s pearly skin.  They were laughing.

“Poor Aven,” Snow White said.  “He thinks me quite ignorant simply because I have not known the touch of a man.”

“Of course he does,” said Ilraine.  “Men are stupid.  I have told you that before.  Hush now.”  She pushed Snow White back into the grass and kissed her.  Their tongues met and teased each other out in the open air now and again before vanishing into the next kiss, and Ilraine rubbed against Snow White’s covered breast with her hand.  Snow White reached around Ilraine’s back, and with a surprising dexterity untied the laces of her garment and slid it from her shoulders.

Ilraine obligingly slipped out of the gown the rest of the way, revealing gently golden flesh and brown nipples, and breasts quite erect for an older woman.  She playfully pulled up Snow White’s skirts where she lay, revealing tight pale thighs with a small patch of black hair between.  Ilraine teased this hair between her fingers, and with her other hand reached into a picnic basket and pulled out a large, thick carrot.  She bit off the pointy tip, and thrust the remainder between Snow White’s legs.

Snow White whined and rocked her hips forward as Ilraine moved the carrot back and forth.  “Do you like that?” she breathed.

Snow White nodded.  “But it’s so cold.  I would rather your fingers.”

“Would you?  Then come and earn them.”  Ilraine pulled her back up into a sitting position and unstrung her dress, then pulled it from her.  Snow White’s larger breasts had a slight hang to them; Ilraine took them up in her hands and rubbed hard at the pink nipples, and Snow White moaned and leaned her head back, bouncing a little up and down on her knees.  “Come!” Ilraine commanded, and as she herself came up onto her knees, she pulled Snow White’s head down to her own breast, and the girl suckled there.  Ilraine smiled in approval and petted Snow White’s dark hair, and arched her back to make sure of the best angle.

After a few minutes, Ilraine pushed her down again.  “Very well,” she said, “perhaps you have done well enough.  Here we are.”  She stroked each of Snow White’s inner thighs in turn, and the flesh quivered slightly in anticipation as her lips opened.  Ilraine poked in just her index finger, and with her thumb pressed against the knob where the girl’s lips met.  Snow White writhed happily as Ilraine moved them, ever so slowly, still pinching one of Snow’s nipples with the other hand.  After a moment, she added the middle finger, and after several moments, a third.  Snow wriggled with increasing moans, twining her fingers into the grass around her head.

“Is that enough,” Ilraine asked, “or would you have more?”

“More,” Snow White whispered.  Ilraine added her pinky finger, so that now her whole hand was engaged between the quivering lips of her stepdaughter, who lightly stamped her feet.

“What!  Still more?” Ilraine grinned.

“Please.  Yes.  Please.”

Ilraine withdrew her hand a little way, joining her thumb with the rest of her fingers, and then inserting the lot, very slowly.  This she moved back and forth a few times, as Snow White panted and continued to sigh sweetly, “Please.”  Ilraine moved the hand inward, and this time continued, very slowly.  Aven watched all five fingers vanish entirely…and then the rest of the hand, up to the wrist.

Now she held it very still; but Snow White’s body seemed to be vibrating all over.

“There,” said Ilraine softly.  “I am making the fist now, Snow White.”  A pause; Snow White shuddered and groaned.  “Do you like that?”

Her mouth was quivering; she was barely able to answer.  “YYYYeeeeessss,” she breathed.

Now Ilraine’s arm – he could not see the hand – moved in and out, a little, very slowly.  Snow White’s breaths were loud and deep, and she looked deeply entranced.  Her limbs shook like windblown leaves.  Ilraine kissed her gently in one place and another, and Snow White howled at each little addition of pleasure to what already seemed as much as she could bear.

Ilraine at last withdrew her hand gently, and for a moment Snow White lay very still; but Ilraine did not allow her rest.  She climbed artfully over the girl’s white body, and then turned herself around so that each was facing the other’s twat.  She handed Snow White the carrot as she turned.  “If you’re not going to use it,” she explained, “I’d like it.”  Snow White nodded, barely coherent.

Ilraine spread Snow White’s lips with her hands, and stroked them with her tongue; then began to suck at them.  Snow White cried out, clutching at the Queen’s cheeks, but with a clear struggle, collected enough of her wits to return the gesture.  Now it was Ilraine’s turn to respond with a low, husky moan and a smile.  Snow White pulled the Queen’s lips apart further and with one hand stroked them with the carrot, then started to work it into her.  Ilraine rocked back and forth a little on top of her to encourage this.

They seemed to find a natural rhythm together, the pleasure of each feeding the pleasure of the other; and they writhed, one mass of soft womanly flesh, and clawed with increasing hunger at each other, and shaking, released one great sound together, Ilraine’s primal growl and Snow White’s girlish scream….

He woke up in need of a towel.

 


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The newly widowed Queen Ilaine makes arrangements with the huntsman. He, however, is as susceptible to Snow's charm as literally everyone else.

Little more than a week after the departure of the visitors, the King died of a heart attack.

The Queen mourned decorously for two weeks, and then, by increments, began to change.  Her gowns, though they still covered her fully from the top of her head to the soles of her feet, covered them by hugging close to her shape, almost as tight as her skin except for the movement-loving skirts.  The colors became rich and bright, reds and purples and gold.  And then, on occasion, the head covering disappeared, and her hair was woven with strands of pearls; and then, the necklines of the next wave of new gowns began to sink downward, showing increasing amounts of throat, chest, even hints of cleavage.

The men of the court responded exactly as they should, with a sudden wave of new appreciation:  with gifts and flowers and songs of praise and surreptitious visits when their ladies weren’t watching.  And if the ladies took it into their heads to complain, well, she was the Queen, and such rivals were easily removed by force if need be.

Anyone might have thought that the Queen would be as happy as she had ever been:  but they would have been wrong.

The problem was that her great plan wasn’t working.  Half the point of Kevry dying was to have free reign over Snow White, and half the point of having free reign over Snow White was to convince her to make herself plain.  And she was trying:  she had taken Ilraine’s words very much to heart, and let her do whatever she could think of to try to dim the girl’s natural charms.

But none of it worked.  The mirror was hardly worth talking to any more, because it simply would not shut up about Snow White.

They’d chopped off the girl’s dark silken tresses nearly to the root – a strange form of mourning for her father, Ilraine had said when people asked about it.  But this only gave her a queer pixie-like quality, and drew the more attention to the twinkling of her eyes.  As her hair grew out (as Ilraine saw little point in keeping it cut short) it grew quickly, and developed a charming inward flip toward her chin; this was in now danger of becoming a legitimate fashion among other young girls.

Ilraine dressed her in fabrics that were barely of a good enough quality to strain tea, in the drabbest colors; they contrasted stunningly with the paleness of her skin and made the rosiness of her cheeks and lips more dramatic.  They tried rags of various sorts, stitched casually together:  Snow White then looked exotic, like a fortune-teller.  They smeared dirt and ashes on her face and set her to work scrubbing stone tiles:  now men saw her as a poor lost lamb who must be taken in and cuddled by the fire.  For one short day they tried training her to rudeness:  men found her “petulant” and “feisty” and were not put off in the least, so they stopped, as it gave Snow White a headache – and not even that diminished her, for when ill or tired she would sigh through her pouty mouth and lift her hand to her lovely brow, and hearts would melt.  Ilraine was running out of ideas short of actual mutilation, and she doubted that would sit well with even the most besotted nobles.

Because after all, for as much as they fussed over Ilraine, she did not doubt that any one of them would drop her in a heartbeat if Snow White showed any sign of being ready to accept visits from men.  And this was quite intolerable.  It was like being the Morning Star in a sky where the Sun could come and go at any moment it liked.

The time had come for more drastic measures.

“You called for me, Your Majesty?” said Ilvur.

He had been an assassin for Kevry and was now hers; everyone else in the court thought that he was a hunter.  Even so, he was not known as a gentle man, nor a man of gentle tastes.  She did not think that he would be easily stirred to pity, or to arousal, by the sort of girl that Snow White was.

Beauty aside, Ilvur had other special needs that not every woman could fulfil with Ilraine’s enthusiasm.  That was her hold, her advantage.

“Yes, Ilvur.  Tomorrow I will allow Snow White a walk into the woods, with only three of her guards.  Kill them or distract them, I care little which:  but kill Snow White, and to prove to me that the work has been done, bring me her heart.”

“Quite an order, to kill the Princess.  What will you say?”

“What do I need to say?  I am the Queen.  If you remain secret, we will simply call her vanished.  We will search, and mourn, and move on.  If her body is found, we will call it bandits, or if there is too much trouble from our neighbors, we will blame them.”

He nodded.  “Very well.  And what is to be my payment?”

“Me.  And you may use this.”  She reached behind her and brought out a long braided whip.

He took it from her hand and examined it with a fond care.  “This one is new,” he smiled.  “It looks expensive.”

“Of course it is.”

He turned aside once, and with an expert flick of his wrist snapped it against the floor beside him.  It made a loud crack, and they both smiled very slightly.

“How many times?”

“Hmm.  Fifteen?”

“Twenty-five.”

“Ah, not if you would gain entry afterward.”

He stepped in closer, grazing the stubble on his chin against her cheek.  “Twenty…and back entry?”

“Hmmm.  Yes, that is acceptable.”

He gazed down at her with intense brown eyes.  “Then the price is set,” he whispered.  “It will be done.”

Ilraine traced a finger along the neckline of her gown as he left the room.  “Excellent.”

***

“Out into the wood!” Snow White squealed.

“Yes, my dear.  As little good as penance is doing you, there seems little point in keeping you sequestered here.  At any rate, it is unlikely that you will find another living soul except for the guards you take with you…and so, I imagine also that you can do with only three, while you are out.”

“It will be so exciting!” Snow White cried, clapping her hands together.

“Yes, I imagine it will be quite exciting for you.”  She waved randomly to three of the guards:  two plain women in their forties, and a man whose tastes ran toward other men.  “Now, mind that you do not stay too late; I do not trust the wood for safety at night.  You must be home for supper.  Do you understand?”

“Yes!  Yes!” the girl giggled, hopping up and down.  The guards escorted her out to the stables, where a gentle horse had been prepared for her; and they rode away into the wooded valley between their kingdom and Aven’s.  He was quite a way off, she knew: it was a few days’ journey, as she had learned the handful of times that they had been the ones to go a-visiting.

In ten days, only _ten_ , it would be his birthday, and he would come for her.  She was very excited…and a little bit afraid.  She knew and feared the dark warnings her stepmother had given her about what he would expect once she was his.  But Aven was so dear!  And the moment they had shared in the courtyard had felt so…she was unsure how to describe it even to herself, but it had been wonderful.  It had felt like the beginnings of some great magical wonder, not of any sudden horror.

And he had warned her against her stepmother.

But why?  Even with her father dead, Ilraine had never spoken an unkind word to her, had never raised a hand to her.  Why did the two people she trusted most seem so determined to think the worst of each other?  What did it all mean?

She shrugged these questions away upon reaching the edge of the wood.  It was full of dark, tall pines and spruces, and the songs of birds; and today, instead of riding through along the broad path between the two kingdoms, she was allowed to dismount from her horse and wander as she wished, with one guard ahead of her and two behind.  She tried to peer up into the tops of trees; she skipped and danced; she threw bits of bread at squirrels and laughed as they carried them away.

“Poor sheltered dove,” said the male guard to one of the others, “to think that this is the very height of excitement.”

Then there was a whizzing, and a soft gurgling sound.  Snow White turned to find that the guard who had just spoken was falling to his knees, blood gushing from the place where an arrow had pierced his throat.  As she screamed, another arrow flew out from somewhere among the trees and struck another guard through the heart, and she also fell.  The third drew her sword and turned her head one way and the other, frantically looking for the source of the arrows.

Snow White ran, she did not know which way.  Perhaps she heard a third body fall behind her, but she did not turn to look.  She ran – and gasped as a hand seized her arm from nowhere, and spin her around and dash her against a tree.  Before she could cry out a gloved hand was over her mouth, and she was looking into a hard, rugged face, and if she glanced down there was the metallic gleam of a knife held close to her throat.

And then they stood like that for a long, terrible moment.  She stared at him, wondering why he did nothing; and looking into his cold, dark eyes, she imagined him wondering the same thing himself.

Holding the edge of the knife close to her throat, he quickly slid the hand on her mouth around to the back of her head, and dug itself into her hair, holding her fast.  “You are not dressed like a Princess,” he murmured.

“But I am,” she whispered, her voice trembling.  “Oh good sir, I am.  My stepmother the Queen will pay you well if you bring me home safe.”

He sneered.  “I doubt that.”

“Please, sir.”  Her eyes were tearing.  “It is true.  I know that I look poor, but it is true.  She would pay you gold, and jewels, and…and….”

“Little girl,” he said, as she watched a lock of black, unwashed hair fall into his face, “it is your stepmother who has sent me to kill you.”

She stood still in shock for a moment, not wanting to believe him; but she saw no lie in his face, and his knife was cold and hard against her throat.  She began to cry in earnest, and her heart was racing.  “Then it was true,” she sobbed.  “Please, please, sir, don’t hurt me.  Please don’t kill me.”

“I have never failed in my task before, little girl.  And where would you go?  You cannot return to your kingdom.”

He smelled like horses, and the rough bark of the tree pressed through her dress into her skin, and she was bitterly afraid.  “I will not.  I will go far away.  Please, I beg you.  Please.”

“Ssh.”  He moved the knife up, touched its side against her lips.  She panted for breath, noticed how closely he stood to her.  “Ssh.  Poor little creature.”  He looked puzzled; he scanned her face as if seeking an answer to some question he had yet to ask.  “Poor, pretty thing.  But I am not accustomed to granting favors without some form of payment.  What do you have to offer me, little one?”

She stammered.  “I…I have not brought anything, but….”

With one finger of the hand with the knife, he stroked her quivering lower lip.  “Such a sweet little mouth.  Perhaps if it did something that I liked very much, I would be able to spare you.”

Snow White opened her eyes wide.  _The wickedness!_   So that was true as well!

But much better that, she quickly decided, than having her throat cut in the woods.  “Yes,” she whispered.  “Yes, I would do that for you.”

He lowered the knife, but did not release his hold on her hair.  He pushed her down to her knees, and sheathing his blade, used his free hand to unfasten his trousers.  Out came several inches of mysterious flesh, with something of a bulb at the end.

This was the secret horror, the font of men’s evil?  It did not look nearly as frightening as the knife had.  Unusual, yes.  But she remained unconvinced that it was _frightening._

He placed his other hand on her head near the first.  “Open your mouth,” he prompted her.  She did, and quite suddenly he thrust his hips toward her, so that the strange protrusion was launched into her mouth.  He pulled it back partway, and then thrust it forward again, and continued like that.  As she did not notice herself choking, she tilted her head up slightly so that her tongue rubbed a bit along his length, supposing by the movement that the point of the thing was the rubbing.  He gave a bit of a grunt and grinned down at her, and she decided that she was right.

She closed her lips over him, and made more of a point of stroking him with her tongue as he passed back and forth, looking up into his eyes, as he seemed to want to look down into hers.  His rhythm became faster and harder, and she braced herself by placing her hands on the sides of his legs.

Well, then, this wasn’t so difficult.  Nor so terrible, either.  She did not notice any particularly vile smells or tastes, and he was not hurting her.  He no longer seemed as if he had any interest in hurting her.  He was grinning like a fiend, and clutching at her hair – well, perhaps that was becoming a bit too fierce –

All at once, a tremor ran through his entire body, and he barked, and some thick substance filled her mouth, tasting more like salt and almond paste than anything else; and then his flesh went soft, and he pulled it away from her mouth gingerly, as if afraid that she might hurt it now that it was so small.

She swallowed what was left behind, concerned that it might be rude to do otherwise, and wondered if this would make her more wicked, and why evil would taste like salt and almond paste, and why evil did not really seem terribly disturbing compared to other things she could name.

He fastened his pants and dropped to one knee in front of her.  He took off one glove, and with his bare hand, with his thumb, gently wiped her lips clean.  “Sweet girl.  You are quite gifted for one who must surely be a virgin.”

“A what?”

He laughed.  “A girl who has never before taken a man’s cock into her hole.”

“Oh!”  She was startled at his candor.  “It is called a cock, then, that part?”

He grinned at her ignorance.  “That is one name for it.  Not the most polite one.”

“Still, if that is what it was…then now I am not a virgin, am I?”

“You are still.  This hole isn’t the one that counts, little one,” he said, touching her mouth again.  “Oh, I will be sorry I did not ask a higher price of you.  If I had a secret place somewhere, I would keep you for a long time before I let you go.  But I have made my bargain, and I will keep it.”  He rose to his feet.  “Run away from here, away from your kingdom, and never come back.  It will be death for us both if you do.”

“Thank you,” she said as he walked away, “thank you.”

Then she rose to her feet and ran for as long as she could, and then walked for as long as she could after that.  The wood grew dark and thick around her, and she knew that even the little sky she could see was growing darker as well.  She meant to go toward Aven’s kingdom, if she could find the way; but she had never been out of her city except on the broad road, and she had long since lost that, and now she had no notion of where she went.

As night came, she grew cold and hungry, and the night sounds came strange and threatening.  The trees themselves creaked and groaned as she passed them, and seemed to reach out at her with broad, dark arms between the growing shadows; and the pleasant sounds of birdsong vanished, to be replaced with croaks and skreeks and hoots and what she very much feared might be howls.  Black shapes seemed to move among the treetops.

She huddled down beneath a tree at the foot of a small hill.  She had no cloak and did not know how to make a fire; so she could only pull her legs up close to her, and double her arms around herself.  Too afraid to sleep, she sat thus all through the night, and wept.

***

In the Queen’s hands there was a black box, and in the box there was a heart.  She did not think to confirm where he had attained it, and he did not enlighten her.

It was not completely a lie, he thought, as she beamed and gloated at her prize.  After all, the girl was now hopelessly lost in the woods, and would surely be killed by some beast or starve, and be just as dead as if he hadn’t taken her bribe.

Something of a pity, that.  He should really have raised the price.  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken a virgin.  And that one had been so delectable….

Not that this woman was not, in her own right, quite satisfying.  He returned his attention to the Queen just in time; she looked up from the box, setting it delicately aside like a great and fragile treasure, and approached him smiling.  She turned her back to him, offering the laces of her gown.  “I am ready to make good your payment,” she said.

He drew his blade and, with a pull upwards, cut through the laces, exposing her back.  Replacing the knife, he pulled the dress down off of her body and began to caress it:  first the ass and the backs of the legs, then he reached around for one tit and pinched it, and listened to her hiss through her teeth.  “To the wall with you,” he said, and obligingly she walked to the wall with the largest empty space and placed her palms against the stones.

He fetched the whip from where she had laid it out for him.  “Now, are you ready?”

“Yes.”

He snapped the tail once against the ground.  “What was that?”

She licked her lips and spoke as if the words were chocolate in her mouth.  “Yes, master.”

“Good.  Don’t forget again.”  He folded the whip in half and raised it to her lips, where she kissed it lightly.  He stroked it down along the length of her body, teased her nipples with it, brought it down to her thighs and rubbed it there.  Meanwhile he rubbed at her back and her ass with his free hand, waking up the skin.

When she was warmed up, he reminded her, “Don’t move from that spot if you know what’s good for you.”

Not too hard, at first.  Not as hard as he could go.

_Smack!_

“One.”

“One, master,” she replied.

Again, a little harder.  _Smack!_   “Two.”

A little pleased moan.  “Two, master.”

He changed angles slightly, so as to hit an unmarked spot.  Variety made it better for them both, after all.  _Smack!_ “Three.”

“Three, master!”

And on it went, and twice he had to warn her against crying out too loud and rousing the guards.  He watched with satisfaction the welts developing along her body.  She took such treatment with remarkable grace, and seemed to enjoy it as much as he did; she was almost vibrating by the time she purred, “Nineteen, master.”

The best he had, right across both cheeks.  _SMACK!_   She squealed triumphantly.

“Twenty,” he said.

“Twenty, master!”

“One step back.  Keep your hands on the wall.”

“Yes, master.”  She obliged him.  The step arched her forward, so as to make her more accessible while keeping him off of the fresh welts for the most part.  He slipped two fingers into her pussy, which was dripping and swollen with anticipation.  He took a dollop of her juices into his hand and slipped it back toward her asshole, by way of preparing her.  Then he replaced his fingers inside her with the handle of the whip, and pumped her with that for a moment.  She rocked back onto it as best she could, whimpering with delight.  The movement opened up the cheeks of her ass as if inviting him between them.

He stopped moving the whip.  “I know you’re well-toned,” he said, “so I want you to hold this where it is.  Don’t let it fall, or I will have to punish you.”

He withdrew his hand, and the whip hovered, suspended from between her lips with its tail curled on the ground.  He opened his pants and rubbed at his cock to get it hard enough; then without further ceremony, he shoved it into her ass.  Immediately he had to clap a hand over her mouth as she opened it to scream, and he chuckled, then fell into rhythm.  She was tight here, and only tighter because she was contracting it trying to hold the whip.

She moaned as he fucked her, and her voice rose and fell and her fingers shook, and she licked his hand lovingly.  He took his hand away and used it to hold her waist, pumping her harder, as hard as he could, as hard as he wanted, because she liked what he liked and more was better.

He came, and he stepped back from her, and he could see her trembling there, straining to stand upright and hold the whip for him when she wanted to melt; and after amusing himself with this sight for a moment he relented and said, “Drop,” and the whip clattered to the floor, and she fell to her knees right after it, still shaking.

He stepped around to one side to see the front of her.  “You may finish,” he said.

“Thank you master,” she moaned, snaking her fingers down to rub at herself, and she had barely gotten there when she began to buck and roar and slap at the wall with her free hand.  She stopped suddenly and leaned her head against the stones, panting.

He grinned.  “We’re even.  It is always a pleasure doing business with you.”

“Thank – you – likewise,” she gasped.

 


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warned by a nightmare of Snow's dead mother, Aven arrives early, only to find himself at the Queen's mercy. Snow places herself under the protection of the dwarves.

The moon was full over the courtyard, washing all with silver between the shadows.  He was looking at Morwen’s shrine:  the rosebushes surrounding it were nothing but tangles of thorns, the flowers torn and trampled all around them.  Within were more strange signs:  the statue was gone, and the marble of the pedestal was cracked.

He began to run about the grounds, not sure of why he was so alarmed.  Rose petals littered the ground, blowing around his feet in strange little eddies of wind.  No other sign was there, until out away toward the gate, he heard a voice as cold as stone calling, “Snow White!  Snow White!”

He followed the voice to the gate that led into the city, and found nothing except, far ahead, a tall woman in a black cloak, facing away from him.  “Snow White!” she called again.

“Who are you?” he called after her.  “Has something happened?”  He approached to touch her shoulder, and found marble.  The woman turned, and he gaped at her in horror.  Roses she had torn from their branches were in her white hands, and she clutched at the thorns, and blood dripped from them, black in the moonlight.  Worse was her face, which although turned white like flesh seemed a stony mask of contorted grief and rage; and dark bloody tears poured down over her cheeks from her blank eyes.

She reached out both hands toward him, without releasing the roses; and impossibly the cold mouth opened, and spoke to him in an icy voice that echoed as if it came to him out of some deep sepulchre.

“ _Find my daughter.”_

Aven woke with a start, sweat drenching his sheets.  He dressed as quickly as he could and went to find his parents.

“I would go today,” he announced simply.

His mother laughed.  “You are too eager!  It will only be a few days more, love.”

“No, you don’t understand.  Something is wrong.  I need to go _now._ ”

“What makes you think that anything is wrong?  You had a letter from her not a week ago, and you said she sounded well.”

“I know.”  He paced in frustration.  “I know, and I can’t explain what I feel, but something has happened, or something is going to happen, and I have to _help_ her.”

“Ah,” said his mother, raising her eyebrows.  “You’ve had one of those odd dreams.”

He knew what would come after that, and he braced himself.

“My poor dear,” she crooned, petting the side of his head, “don’t you know this is nonsense?  You’ve had bad dreams since you were little; they weren’t true then, and they aren’t now.  I will get the herbalist to make something to help you sleep, and once you have had your birthday you may go to her as soon as you like.”

“It isn’t nonsense,” he muttered through clenched teeth.  He should never have said anything; now she wanted to have him drugged.  He manufactured calm in his bearing, and said, “No, I’m sure you’re right, Mother.  I am sorry.  Perhaps I shall just write her a letter to be sure; that will make me feel better.”

She smiled at him.  “There, that’s an excellent idea.  My poor darling!  I know it is hard to be on the edge of both your manhood and your marriage, and feel as if time is crawling to a stop to spite you.  But the days will pass faster if you put your mind upon other things.”

“Yes, I do feel a bit restless.  Perhaps I will go and buy her a present in town.  May I do that?”

“Of course,” she said, even offering him a pouch full of coins.  And so he bowed to her, and went to the stable for his horse, and rode out into town and cantered about a bit, and then – his parents being so much more trusting of both him and their people, there were no guards to escape – rode out by a side road into the wood, and back around to the broad road between the kingdoms, and spurred his horse to the best gallop it would offer him.

***

Snow White did not know from where she summoned the will to rise to her feet when morning came.  She was quite lost, and nearly frozen through, and famished, with very little hope that she could even find her way back to the road or kingdom she had been cautioned to avoid on pain of death, let alone to any other hospitable place.  But still she stumbled along wearily.

She stopped in spite of her forlorn mood to appreciate a wild briar, its little blooms rich with fragrance.  She vaguely remembered having drunk a tea made of rose hips; perhaps, if she ever found a bit of water and ever could make sense of how to get a fire going, that would take at least a little edge off of her hunger.  For that matter, perhaps if one could make tea out of them, one could also simply eat them entire.

Excellent!  Now, which part was the hip?

Here she was lost again, and was back on the verge of tears when she heard a bird singing close by.  As she sought it, it came and landed on the briar just in front of her.  It was a red-winged blackbird.  She stared at its black wings, and the red and white bands on its shoulders, and it sang merrily at her, and hopped a little way to a low branch of a tree not far ahead of her.

She followed, entranced by its pretty song; and it hopped again a little way, and then again, as she trailed behind.  Then, suddenly, it leapt and flew beyond her sight.

“Oh, please don’t go!” Snow White cried after her only companion, running after the way it had gone.  But after a few steps, she stopped and stared.  There was her little bird after all; and it was sitting on a roof.

Here, in a little clearing, was a cheerful white house with a roof covered in thatch.  It had two stories, and dark shutters on its little windows.

Snow White had never heard that there was anyone who lived in the valley, which was claimed by neither of the neighboring kingdoms but shared between them.  Perhaps, perhaps it would be safe to ask for help.  She carefully crossed over to the wooden door and knocked.  There was no answer.

“Hello?” she called, knocking again.  Nothing.

Again she felt the urge to cry.  Oh, she could not leave here empty-handed; she might never find another human dwelling.  Perhaps she could just wait on the doorstep?

Perhaps…she would just try the door.

It opened easily to her hand.

“Hello?” she called again.  “Is anyone home?”  There was no answer.

Glancing about behind her, she stepped into the front room of the house.  Here were a table, and chairs, and two couches off to the rear near the fire – all, she thought, built a bit smaller than she had usually seen.  On the table were seven settings, and to her surprise, all were set and already filled with dinner:  cold meat, and rolls, and fruits, and beer.

She looked around again, sure that someone would come in and ask her what she was doing there.  Who would have set out a fresh meal and then left it uneaten?  And yet no one came to claim it, and there was no sound anywhere in the house.

She could not bear the temptation any longer.  She sat down and quickly devoured two rolls from the basket and an apple.  Then, realizing that she must be more cautious, she cut a small piece from the meat on each plate, and ate those, then took a small sip from each of the seven mugs to wash it down.

Now that she was less famished, she was curious.  Although she knew that she should now go and wait outside the house to see when its owners returned, she decided to make a short tour of the rest of the place first.  She found a little kitchen, well-provided; and then she went upstairs, which was one great room filled with seven beds and sets of dressers.  These, too, were smallish:  as wide as her own bed, but just a bit shorter.

She sat down on one of them, and found it to be of good quality.  Quite comfortable, really.  Quite, quite comfortable.

Her lack of sleep got the better of her:  she curled up on the little bed and fell asleep instantly.

***

“Poor thing, she looks all done in.”

“Fine, fine, but what is she _doing_ here in the first place?”

“Oh, you can’t ever tell with the tall folk.  They’re all queer.”

“She looks harmless enough.  She looks rather sweet.”

“I grant you she does, but what are we going to do about her?”

As the voices debated, gradually rousing her, she opened her eyes.  All around her were standing thick-shouldered men with thick, long beards, covered with grime, all staring at her.

She yelped and sat up with a start.  And then she realized that sitting on the bed put her face level with those of the men.  That didn’t seem right.

“Oh dear,” she muttered.  “I’m very sorry, I really didn’t mean to, but you see I was lost in the woods and I knocked and no one was here and I was so hungry and tired and – ”

“There, there, girl,” one with a black beard and a blue shirt interrupted her.  “Take a deep breath and tell it in order.  No one’s going to hurt you.”

“Who are you?”

“Now hear!” said one with a brown beard shot through with grey.  “Hadn’t that ought to be our question?  _You’re_ in _our_ house.”

“Oh, it’s fair enough, Forn.  Mistress,” said the black-bearded one, “we are the dwarves of the Silverstream Mine.  I can see that you have not met our kind before, and it is not surprising.  We are only a little outpost, frontiersmen if you will, come to see if this lode is enough to sustain a town’s worth of our people.  Most of our kin live much deeper in the mountains, and see little of the tall folk.  My name is Krinnock, and I am the leader here.  That is Forn,” he said, gesturing to that dwarf beside him; then he went around to the others.

“Kori” he called the shortest one, whose beard was blond.  “Niri” was the tallest, just the slightest bit taller than Krinnock, and thinner than the others.  “Triv” had a thick nose and shoulders so wide he seemed as far across as tall.  “Flint” had hair all grey, and laugh lines around his eyes, but did not seem to carry himself like an old man.  “Firelock” had a bright red beard and long red braids down his back.

“I am sorry if we do not cut a fine appearance,” Krinnock concluded with a grin, “but we have just come home from mining, and noticed that someone had come into our home, eaten our food, and gone to sleep in one of our beds, and so we have not taken the time to bathe and groom ourselves for the evening.  I am sure you understand.  Now then!  Who might you be, little one, and what brings you here?”

“I am…my people call me Snow White.”  She looked timidly around from one to another of them as she spoke.  “I am from the kingdom at the bottom of the valley.  My father was the king but…he died, and my stepmother…my stepmother wants me dead.”  She gave a little dry sob as the fullness of this awful realization struck home and then went on.  “So I have run away in fear of my life.  I do not know my way through the wood, and came here by chance.  I…I only ask….”  She could feel tears threatening, and she struggled to control her voice.  “If you would please only grant me a little food to take on my way, and tell me which way I may reach the kingdom on the other side of the valley, I will be no more trouble.”

“What do you think?”  Flint asked Krinnock.

Krinnock shook his dark head, and dust shimmered around him.  “No, I do not think it wise.  Snow White, if what you say is true, then surely your stepmother has sent men out in search of you, to be sure of your death.  You should avoid the tall folk for a time, I would think.”

“But Aven – ah,” yes, her cheeks were wet, now that yet another horrid thought had come on top of the others.  “My Aven is there.  He will be coming for me in…in nine days.  My Aven!”  She buried her face in her hands.

“Perhaps soon it will be safe to send word,” said Krinnock.  “But not now, poor girl.  Do you see that it is not safe?  If he knows where you are, then easy enough for your Queen to learn as well.  And anyone can see that you are not skilled in the ways of the wood, to travel alone.  No, for now, you are safer hiding than running.”

She did not look up from weeping.  “Where shall I hide?”

Krinnock pulled the others aside, and they muttered amongst themselves for a moment.  When they returned, he said, “Here now.  We are only an outpost – only seven; and as such we have no womenfolk.  We must cook our own supper in the morning and eat it cold at night; our house is dingy, for we are too tired to clean it after our long hours in the mine.  We lack many of the basic comforts of civilized life.  And so,” he went on, clearing his throat, “if you would agree to work for us, to provide us with those things that women provide, then we will let you stay with us until it is safe.”

She looked up, her hands clasped eagerly to her chest.  “Will you really?”

They raised their eyebrows, as if they had not expected her answer to be so enthusiastic.  “Why, certainly we will.  But you must do all that we require of you, do you understand that?”

“Oh yes,” she smiled, “and of course I will!  Thank you so much!”

“Good!”  Krinnock beamed.  “Then I will ask you first to draw water and heat it for baths.”

***

Out in the courtyard, Ilraine was arguing with the gardeners about the roses.  In just a few days they had grown into an awful tangle, although the help insisted that they were trimming the hedges properly.  Spiky tendrils crawled up the pillars, and the entrance to the shrine itself was tangled shut, overgrown with peculiarly large thorns.

“It is an evil thing, that statue,” she snarled.  “I have always thought so.  Cut the bushes down and pull up their roots.  Then we shall see about the stone.”

***

Aven paced as he waited in the Queen’s private meeting chamber.  He turned toward the sound of her voice as she approached.  

“Very well, now I have dealt with the garden, who must I…Aven!”  Her voice changed instantly, and she smiled over her shoulder at the footman.  “All is well here; you are excused.”  She closed and locked the door behind her.  “You are early, are you not?” she smiled at him.

“I have come to claim the Princess, Your Majesty.  I have come for her hand.”

“You have come a bit soon.”  She sat down in her throne, two steps above the floor.

“All the same I have come, and the matter is long since agreed.”

She swung one leg up over the arm of the chair, leaned back casually, traced a finger along the deep neckline of her gown.  “You have come for a Princess when you could have a Queen?”

He scowled.  “That is not our arrangement.”

“It can be.  My marriage is no longer an impediment, as you must know.  I am still quite beautiful; you said so yourself, when last we met.  And I can offer you a kingdom of your own.”

Something was definitely wrong.  His muscles clenched.  “All you need offer me is Snow White.  Tell me where she is.”

She grinned, twirled the fabric of her skirt between her fingers.  “But I don’t want to.”  As he surged forward in rage, she leaned toward him and stopped him with her hand.  “Now listen to me!  You are in my domain now.  If you displease me I can send you away empty-handed.  If you defy me I will have you imprisoned or cut down as a threat to my person, and there will be war.  You will do as I say.”  He froze, and she leaned back again, resuming her playful stance.  “And if you please me, and if you still want to know, then I will tell you where she is.”

He panted with frustration and anger.  He could see no option.  He offered her a curt bow.  “Then I will do as you say.”

She licked her lips.  “Excellent.  Take off your sword and throw it aside.”  He did so.  “Now…take off everything else.”  He hesitated, and she raised her arched brows in warning; so he removed his shirt, and then his boots and trousers, and stood naked before her.

She rose and circled him slowly, eyeing her prey.  She squeezed one of his buttocks and nodded approval; she rubbed at the scant fuzz of his chest, stroked a finger along his collarbone.  “What an appealing young man you are,” she smiled, “when you are being quiet.”  She turned her back to him.  “Here,” she said, “unlace my gown.”  He obeyed, and she dropped the dress and kicked it behind her, and stood before him, gloriously firm, standing with her hips rolled just slightly forward to draw his eye to the wild, dark blond pubic hair.

“Kneel,” she said, and he dropped to his knees, and looked up at her round, erect breasts.  Gods help him, she really was rather beautiful.  She bent over toward him, her golden hair falling around his head and making a translucent veil between them and the rest of the room; and she held up one breast to his lips.  Again he obeyed, opening his mouth and reaching toward her with his tongue.  She caught hold of the back of his head and pulled him forcefully onto her breast, and he sucked as if he could make milk come.  She hummed, a deep, rich, throaty sound that seemed to reverberate inside him.

His body had broken free of his mind, and he could feel it yearning toward her, the blood rushing to his skin, flooding and hardening him with desire.  He reached out to hold her as he suckled, but she slapped his hands away.  “Not yet,” she whispered.  “I will tell you when you may.”  She broke the contact between them – his chin lifted, his mouth reaching after the nipple in protest – and pushed him back.

He fell onto the floor on his back, and she stepped forward, standing straddled above him.  He could look up and dimly make out the separation of her lips through the light hair, the spreading of the softer brown lips peeking out between, the hole in which he could quench this unbidden desire, and he ached for it; but she stepped one foot onto his chest and held him apart from her.  “Do you desire me?” she asked.

He did not want to.  “Yes,” he whispered.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

“Yes, I desire you.”

“Am I not beautiful?”

Her breasts dangled out of reach, her whole body visible and untouchable above him.  “You are very beautiful.  Please.”

She moved her foot onto his mouth.  “Kiss,” she said.  He took the small toes into his mouth and sucked at them, and she smiled, and her lids fell a little.  He reached one hand up along her calf, and she kicked it away.  “Not yet,” she snapped.

She took another step forward and knelt over his head.  “Now there,” she commanded.  Gratefully he took the brown inner lips into his mouth and pulled at them, letting his tongue play up between them; and she bounced up and down a little bit, and sighed, and moaned.  She held down his hands to make sure he could not touch her, and he growled at his limitations.  She laughed at him.  He avenged himself by sucking hard at the pearl between her lips, rubbing at her with his chin as he did so, and she trembled and howled at the ferocity of his need. 

She drew up away from him again and moved herself downward, down over him, taking him into herself effortlessly, and he gasped with pleasure.  She still held down his arms, and he arched up toward her as she rode him, rocking gently back and forth, a little too slow and still maddeningly out of reach.  She leaned forward a bit more, allowed her breasts to hang and bounce tantalizingly near his mouth, and eventually in mercy she nudged it to his lips, where he sucked desperately.

“Do you want to touch me?” she whispered into his ear.  “Do you want to fuck me harder?”

“Gods please,” he gasped.

And very gently, as if it were nothing, she released his hands.

He grabbed her by the neck and pulled her down to kiss him, hard, deep, and long, and with his other hand he rubbed at her thick, hard nipple, and then up and down the length of her body, trying to take all of her in at once by touch.  Then he seized at her hips, clutched them as if for dear life, and pushed and pulled at them to make her go faster, to make room for him to go faster, to thrust himself into her with all his strength as far as she could take him.  It was as if a frenzy had come over him, and he stared wildly at her, thrusting, clawing, ravenous.  She grinned and threw her head back and rode him like a prize stallion, and he came with a sharpness that knocked him back into the floor, and lifted him and dashed him down again, and rippled through his muscles in a great wave, and then was silent.

And in the silence, he remembered himself, and closed his eyes, sick at heart.

She was stroking his cheek with her fingers.  “Have I done as you wanted, Ilraine?” he whispered.

“Oh yes,” she said.  “Exactly as I wanted.”

He opened his eyes and looked into her glowing face.  “Then take me to Snow White.”

Her fair features curdled, and she stood up and kicked him in the ribs, and then again, harder.  “Damn you!” she screamed.

He sat up, fending off her blows as best he could while he tried to put his clothes back on.  “That was our bargain,” he said softly.  “I am here for the Princess.”

“You will never have her,” she snarled.  “She’s dead.”

He snapped his head up to look at her.  “You’re lying.”

“She was killed four days ago in the woods.  You will be the last man ever to choose her over me.  Her body is rotting in the forest somewhere, and mine is beautiful!”

“You’re mad.”  He felt as if his heart had stopped beating.  “There is no grave?”

“No.”  She overarticulated everything now.  “She was attacked in the woods.  Everyone with her died.  No one came back.”

He rose to his feet.  “I knew you wished her harm.  But I did not imagine how horrible you really are.”

“You speak harsh words.  You are foolish.  For all I know it was your own people who killed her.  The people will as likely believe that as anything.  They will rise up in anger and destroy your kingdom.”

He frowned.  “They will come to their deaths, if they attempt that.  But I think that you lie.  I am going to find her, Ilraine, whether she is living or dead, and wherever you have hidden her.  If she lives, I will take her from you forever.  If she is dead – ” he paused there, uncertain he could bear even to grant the possibility for the sake of argument – “if it is true that she is dead,” he hissed, “then I will come back to deal with you.”

She screamed and wailed and threw something at his back that hit the door, and then he was gone.


	5. Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dwarves begin adjusting the course of Snow's education. Aven searches the woods while his parents prepare for war. The Queen punishes her lying huntsman.

Snow White adjusted quickly to having chores, thanks to the work the Queen had trained her to do as a penance.  Making beds was easy work, sweeping and dusting not much more challenging; tidying wasn’t bad once she knew where things belonged; the first night of cooking had been rather a disaster, but then they had showed her where there was a book describing how things were to be made, and after that it went a bit better.

But carrying buckets of water in to the bathtub, and more to the stove to boil and carry over hot, took more doing.  She struggled through it for a couple of days by herself, but finally she prevailed on the mercy of the dwarves to help her.

“Very well,” they chided.  “But we are doing your work for you.  You must do something else useful in return.”

And what they had suggested was this:  that she help them scrub the dirt of the mines off of their bodies.

So she waited cheerfully in the little room where they kept the tub, for the first of them.  She was wearing only one of their little shirts, which while roomy around her barely grazed her thighs, and a belt at the waist; for they had said that since she had only the one dress, it would be a pity to get it wet and ruin it.  She held a brush in one hand and a washcloth in the other.

The dwarves made for pleasant enough company:  they were always very kind to her, and seemed friendly with each other, except that now and again, when she was in another room, she thought she would hear them arguing about which would be first at something she never quite figured out.  They would start talking about there being seven of them, and seven days of the week, and this meaning fairness, but then who would be first would come up, and there would be debate.  This one was oldest, that one the leader, another had gone longest without – something – and therefore was most in need.  They never seemed to resolve the issue, and if she had to come into the room for something they would abruptly talk about something else.

Kori was first to the tub, his blond beard and hair tangled and matted from his work.  He bowed to her – which always made her smile a little, somehow, the deep bows from these men who were only as tall as her chest – and casually started to remove his work clothes.

“Oh!” she said when he was naked.

The dwarves looked very thick in their clothes, but without them, it was very clear that the bulk came not from fat but muscle.  Kori was thick but crossed all over with lines where the muscles showed through the skin.  But she was also surprised at the empty flap of skin that hung lifeless between his legs.

Kori held out his arms as if to display himself the better.  “There!  Did you have any questions?”

“Well…if you don’t mind, actually….”  She waited for his polite nod before she continued.  “That bit there,” she said, gesturing delicately toward the odd bit of flesh, “doesn’t look like the one I saw.”

“Ah!  We didn’t realize you’d seen any.”

“Only one.  It was on the man who was sent to kill me; but I sucked the wickedness out of it, when he asked me to, and then he let me go.  So…is that what they look like when they are not wicked?”

He laughed.  “What an odd way to put it!  Where did you learn that?”

“From my stepmother.”

“Ah.  The more I hear of your stepmother, the less I like.  Yes, this is what they look like most of the time.”  He looked thoughtful for a moment.  “Do you know what it is called?”

“The man called his a cock, but he said that wasn’t a polite name.”

“It isn’t very; but then, I don’t know if it has a polite name among your kind.  Ours sometimes call it a hammer, when we are being coy, but we aren’t that very often, unless we are talking to one of you.  Let me think, what are the names I’ve heard the tall folk use?  Cock, yes; sword; spear; manhood I have heard, which is a bit timid, but perhaps that would sound best from a young lady.  Although mine would be dwarfhood by rights, and that just sounds stupid.  Hmm.  Let us stay with hammer for now.  So, when you saw this man’s hammer, it was already hard?  I mean, it was pointed up like this?”  He imitated the sight with his finger.

“Yes.”

“And you sucked it, and that is the whole of your experience with such matters?”

“Yes.”

“Did it frighten you?”

“No, not really.  Ilraine – that’s my stepmother – always told me that I would be quite frightened, and hurt.  But it seemed more odd than frightening, especially just after being threatened with a knife and all.”  She shuddered.

“Well, I’m glad no harm was done, and perhaps there isn’t that much to unlearn.  You have no reason to understand your good luck, but our kind are widely known for our skill in these matters, and our knack for training the young.  So, yes!  This is my hammer, and this is what they look like when they are not ‘wicked,’ as you put it.  They never are really wicked, you know.”

“Then what is it that changes them?”

“Excitement.  The joy of being allowed to touch something very beautiful.”

“Oh!”  She smiled a little.  “That sounds much nicer.”

“I thought so.  Anyway, into the tub I go; others are waiting.”  He stepped into the water, and quickly there was a grey tinged cloud floating out around him.  She brought the soap, wet the cloth and brush, and started to work on him.  First she scrubbed his back as he washed his face; then she scrubbed his hairy chest, and his arms and legs.

“Here too,” he said, guiding her hand downward; and here she felt something like a thick, massive rope.  As her eyes opened wider and she looked down to see if what she felt was still visible through the water, Kori smiled and said, “That is more what the other hammer was like, yes?”

“Yes, only – only not so big as this.”

Kori grinned widely.  “Yes, we’re known for that as well.  You see?  It is only happy to have a pretty girl washing it clean.”  She blushed a little, and he touched her chin with one finger.  “That isn’t so bad, is it?”

“No, it isn’t.  But how will we make it small again?”

“There are a few ways.  Most of them, well, I’m afraid I’m not allowed to show you just now.  You already know one, but there is one more I can tell you.  Get a good bit of soap on your cloth.”  She did so.  “Now, wrap it around my hammer and take a good firm hold.  Ah, not quite that firm! – that’s it:  solid, but gentle.  It’s very sensitive when it’s like this, you understand?  Good.  Now, just slide the cloth along the length and back.  Yes, like that, and then again…over and over…ahh, yes.”

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, and she pulled the cloth back and forth across his hammer (it didn’t _feel_ that much like a hammer, but she supposed it was more like that than like a cock) and watched what was visible of his face through all the hair.  He seemed quite happy, and she was happy to make him feel that way by such a simple thing, because he was so kind.  She was beginning to wonder if her stepmother had made up the whole thing about wickedness just to tease her.

She found that she naturally squeezed just a little every time she reached the tip, and he seemed to like that.  After a minute he whispered to her to please go faster, and when she did, all of a sudden all his great muscles bunched and rippled beneath his skin, and then he fell back looking very relaxed, and the hammer felt softer, and some creamy substance floated up to the top of the water.

“What is that?” she asked.

He gave a great long sigh.  “That, my dear, is what comes when the hammer’s joy is so great that it bursts through my whole body.  It releases that, and then it is done and must rest.  So please let it go now.”

She did.  “That sounds very pleasant,” she said.

“It is.  A woman can feel it too, by different means; and perhaps one day I will be allowed to show you that.  For now, however, it also means that we should dump out this water and draw some fresh for the others.  I will help you.  I will also suggest that if you try this same thing with the others, they will be very pleased with you.”

She did try it later, and Kori was right.

***

Ilraine examined herself carefully in the mirror.  She still couldn’t fathom it, although she had fumed over it for days.  What sort of idiot would even mention the name of another woman only a heartbeat after having her?  Surely that stupid girl had never been _that_ much more attractive? It was not as though there was even the slightest flaw in her own –

What was that?  Frown lines!  Snow White was giving her _frown lines!_

She calmed herself as best she could.  She was sure Prince Simpleton hadn’t insulted her dignity because of frown lines.  And she had salves; she would take greater care with her skin regimen, that was all.  And besides, it wasn’t as though Snow White would have any more chances to do damage, was it?

Why not prove it?  It was funny, she thought, how she had gotten so far out of the habit of consulting her beloved mirror when Snow White was underfoot that she hadn’t thought to enjoy it again now that the waif was gone.  She pulled herself up very straight and asked in a regal voice, “Who is the fairest of all women?”

In its cool, distant voice _it said “Snow White.”_

Her eyes widened in outrage.  “ _What??”_ she roared.  “No she isn’t!  She’s dead!  She isn’t allowed to be the fairest when she’s _dead!_   Who is the fairest of all women _living?_ ”

“Snow White.”

Ah.  Ah, of course.  She had been foolish to trust in a mere man to do the job.

She stormed out to find the nearest of the royal guard.  “Bring Ilvur here at once!”

***

Again as every morning, except that now she had begun to clasp him by the shoulders, pressing the thorns into his flesh in her stony, viselike grip, as her dead eyes bled and her cold voice echoed through him, “ _Find my daughter.”_

“I am trying!” he tried to answer.  “Where is she?”  But he woke to find that he had cried out to a tree and not to the statue.

The tracker only glanced over his shoulder casually, shook his head, and went back to preparing a breakfast for them.  Aven had hired the fellow in town, and that had been hard enough:  he’d disguised himself for fear that the Queen would send someone after him, and indeed he had seen increasing numbers of soldiers riding the streets since he had left her.  Much searching for a reliable man, and then much argument and bartering, only to find when they finally set out for the forest that the trail had already grown too cold to follow beyond where they had found the bodies of the guards.

He had surveyed that scene with quiet terror, imagining his trusting bride-to-be suddenly faced with such hatred, such carnage.  How frightened she must have been…but her body was not there.  Had she fled?  Was she being held captive somewhere?  By whom?  What might they be doing to her even now?

But the trail was cold, the man said.  Four people and horses left enough trace to last this many days, he said, but one woman on foot?  He could not find the way she might have gone, even if she had left under her own power.

So they had come back to the main road, and ever since ridden alongside it – not on it, again and still in fear of the Queen – hoping that perhaps she would have done the same, if she were alive and free.  She might have done so, Aven thought, when he had any hope.  That would have been the safest way.  She would try to find her way to him.

But days had come and gone and brought them no further sign of her.

“Begging your pardon,” said the tracker as Aven rose and approached the fire, “but if you don’t mind my saying, there’s little more point to this.  Either she’s captive to someone I can’t trace, meaning she’s long gone, and if you’re ever to hear of her again it’ll be her keeper sending word; or she’s run deep into the wood, and without any training she’s dead by now.”

Aven sat gloomily beside the fire.  “I do mind your saying.  I cannot give up until I find some sign.”

“Then you’re going to go home an old man.”

“So be it,” Aven snapped, then sighed.  “I suppose it’s true that there’s no point in your staying.  If there is no trail, then there is no trail; and if it is now only blind luck that will find her, I imagine that mine is as good as yours.  But I will have one thing more of you.  Fetch me that pack.”  The man brought it, and Aven took out a square of parchment.  Lacking a proper inkwell, he sharpened a twig and dipped it in soot, and wrote what he could of a rough note.  “Here,” he said, giving it to the tracker.  “Take that to my kingdom, to my parents.  At least they will have warning.  Then I will consider us square.”

“As you will it,” said the tracker, and taking a strip of bacon from the fire, he began to pack his share of items back onto his horse.  “And where will you go, sir?”

“As you suggested.  Deeper into the wood.”

***

She was alone in the little house, and it was the day that Aven would have come to claim her, if she had been home.  If she had still had a home.

She sighed.  This was a home of sorts, she supposed, though she was at the mercy of the dwarves’ kindness, and she did not know how far that would extend.

Poor Aven!  What would he find, what would her stepmother do when he came?  What would he do, finding that she was gone?  Would he seek her out?  Would he leave her for dead?  Would he wait very long before he found some other young girl to make his own?

Ah, it was all too sad.  But she must not dwell on such things:  surely it would not be forever that she would live hidden in the woods.  Soon it must be safe to send him word, sooner than he could love another well; and then he would come, and they would be happy.  Yes, that was the way to think of it.

What would it be like?  How would it feel when Aven did with her the things that men did with women?  Would she like it?  She supposed that she would; Kori had seemed quite pleased, and he had told her that women had the same feelings.  It was quite different from what Ilraine had told her about the matter, but of course there were now reasons enough to distrust Ilraine.

She fell back into bed with her eyes closed, trying to imagine Aven kissing her, pantomiming the motion of her own lips in response to his.  She ran her hands over her body and imagined them as his hands.  As she passed her breasts she felt a strange ripple of warmth move from them through her body; so she returned to them and spent more time, rubbing and pulling gently as she imagined his hand, his mouth, resting there.  Pleasant tingles swept through all her skin, and she smiled, and pretend-kissed him again for pleasing her.

Curious, she hitched up her skirt, revealing the place Ilraine had said men desired above all else, and touched first the hair.  Groping for the opening she found something else, a hard little thing that as she touched it, burst with a hundred times the sensation she had felt touching her breasts.  She gasped, her whole body curling up for a moment with surprise.  She tried it once again, gingerly.  Everything was smooth and moist there, and her finger glided easily over the spot, sending another spasm of feeling through her body.

This?  Was this the feeling?  It was wonderful!  She slid her finger slowly, gently back and forth across it a few more times, and there was so much tingling that her limbs began to tremble.  Now she tried combining this with the first feelings, stroking at one of her nipples with the other hand; and this was so glorious that she felt her back arch away from the bed, and her eyes rolled back in her head.  She felt desperately desirous of something, although she was not sure what.

She searched her memory for what very little she knew, seeking the answer.  Her body cried out for something…perhaps the union of hammer to hole?

She reached down a little further, and there it was.  She slipped a finger into it, and found wetness, and a soft caress all around.  She tried a second finger and found the fit tight, a firm but silken grip; but oh, it felt right, it felt like just the thing wanted.  She considered the experiences with Kori and the assassin, and decided that she must not simply leave her fingers in place, but move them in and out, as men seemed to like to move themselves.  That would give her a better idea.

This she did, and her palm brushed gently now and again against the spot where she was most sensitive, and this combination was best of all things so far, wondrous beyond describing.  She tried to imagine Aven above her.  _I love you,_ she had him whisper as their bodies rubbed together.  _I will love you forever._

She writhed and blew him kisses, and panted as if she were running and not lying in bed.  _Oh Aven,_ she thought, _Aven, you must find me soon!  I want to feel this with you!_   And that desire shook all through her with such force that she cried out, and flung her limbs out across the bed, and could do no more.

She lay there daydreaming for some time, quite forgetting about her chores until nearly lunchtime.

***

Aven’s parents soon received his message, a barely legible scrawl:

“ _Ilraine gone mad.  Snow White gone, maybe dead.  Searching the wood.  War may come.  Beware. – Aven.”_

And in case they might have been tempted to dismiss the warning, within an hour another messenger came:

“Dear neighbors!  We had considered you Our friends; but your son has done evil beyond reckoning.  He has murdered our beloved Princess in a jealous rage, and moreover he has attacked and molested Our own person when We attempted to intervene.  He has since fled, and We presume that he has returned to you.  We must consider these acts of war, unless you remit him to Us immediately.  We will soon send soldiers to make good his arrest.  We pray that you will not resist Our call for justice. – Queen Ilraine.”

“What think you?” the Queen asked quietly.

“You know our son,” said her husband.  “And you know Ilraine.  What do you suspect?”

She thought for a moment.  “That she tried to seduce him, and that he refused her.”

The King nodded.  “And where then is Snow White?”

“I dread to ponder it.  The poor boy!  He told me he had had a dream, and I told him to disbelieve it.”

“We must set soldiers to block the road,” said the King.  “And we must send out others to search the forest for Aven.”

***

Ilraine strolled up close to him, falsely casual.  “And how do you enjoy my toys now?” she asked.

Ilvur in turn seemed to try to be cavalier, even as blood was trickling from the sides of his mouth.  “I find them less amusing out of context.”

“Really?  I don’t.”  She glanced up with satisfaction at the manacles by which he hung from the wall.  Then she dismissed her torturer from the cell, and turned back to face her prisoner.  “Now, suppose you tell me whose heart it was you really gave me.”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Of course you do, fool!  Where is Snow White?”

He smirked.  “To be honest, I can’t see why you wanted such a tasty creature dead.  Can you not imagine what you and I could have done to her together?  Can you not imagine the sounds we could have made come from that delectable mouth?”

Ah, of course:  the one thing about men that could be trusted absolutely.  She decided to use it to her advantage.  She arched her eyebrows and moved closer to him, barely an inch from brushing her body against his.  “Hmm.  Tell me more.”

“You are not going to take me down first?”

“I rather like you up there,” she purred.  “Make me a very pretty story, and perhaps afterward we shall trade places.”

Ah, yes, there was the place where his heart lived.  “It could be _her_ up here, you know,” he whispered, “and I would stand beside you.  Would you not like to see that new whip hanging from _her_ pussy?  Or from her ass?  Would you not love the sight of red welts rising from that soft, white skin?”

He was getting hard just thinking about it, the stupid beast.  She rubbed against him, to encourage him.  “Would you cut her for me?”

“Oh yes,” he growled.  “Long, delicate cuts, wherever you liked them.  I would carve your name into her marble thighs.”

“And then we would take her down,” she murmured, brushing her breasts lightly against him, “and you would force her onto her knees, and hold her head in place as she worshipped my cunt.”

His breathing was quickening, and his eyes were bright as he looked down into hers.  “Yes.  And we would push her down onto her hands and knees, and you could break her maidenhead with the handle of your whip.  You could claim her ass as well….

“And you would stifle her screams by filling her throat with your cock,” she breathed into his ear.  “And when she was good and broken I would pull her back, and sit on her face and hold her down so that you could fuck her.”  She rubbed up and down against his body.  “You could fuck her so hard that your come would flow out of her mouth into my pussy.”

“Yes,” he hissed slowly.  “And then we could chain her back up, and leave her until the next day, and do it all again.”

“Mmm. You make an excellent case.  I wish now that I had kept her as a sex slave, rather than having her killed.  But it must be too late by now – she must be starved or killed by beasts in the wilderness.”

“Likely, but there is a chance.  I have heard that the dwarves are exploring a mine at the mouth of the stream that runs down out of the mountain, on the western side of the valley.  If she happened upon them, they may have saved her.”

“And so they must have done.  Thank you, Ilvur.”  She stepped away from him and paced away without another word to the door, and called for the guard to return.  The door opened for her, and without even glancing back she waved at the prisoner over her shoulder and said, “Kill him.”

 


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dwarves initiate Snow into full service. Unfortunately, she celebrates by buying some apples.

A quick poison, this time.

Ilraine was, of course, well versed in poisons; they had served her well against Morwen long ago, and much later, against their shared husband.  But those were slow poisons, poisons that built in the system over time, hard to detect.  She would not have weeks over which to poison Snow White.

She searched her books and her stores for the most virulent poisons she could find, balancing this need with the equal need to disguise the smell and flavor; and at long last she found a blend that would suit all of her aims.

This she cooked long over a black pot in secret, while she mused over how she would deliver the item.  There was no longer any question of sending others to do the work.  No one could be trusted to keep their senses around that demonic little wretch except herself.  But even dear, trusting Snow White would not be likely to accept any gift, now, from her stepmother.  Ilraine must go herself, but she must seem a stranger.

What she determined she must do nearly broke her heart.

She knew plants and poisons, and she used them.  She rubbed unfriendly substances into her skin that made it pucker and redden and coarsen; she washed her hair in a dark glop that dulled and greyed it; she dressed in old rags and bent over her back and looked at herself in a small mirror.  Quite homely she looked, and aged.  She took a cordial that roughened her voice, and tested this effect:  she sounded quite awful.  She packed another cordial to take with her, to keep the change fully potent.

It could all be undone, she quickly consoled herself, when the time came.  There would be little lasting harm, and of it would come the greatest possible good – her rival vanquished.

Now, she dipped a red apple into the vile brew she had made, coating the bottom half only with her poison.  After it dried, she placed this apple lovingly at the top of a basket filled with apples of a different kind, so that she could tell which was which.  All of this done, she headed away toward a secret exit from the castle, to begin her journey toward the mouth of the mountain stream.

***

Snow White held up her present and gasped.  The dwarves had brought it home from some peddler they had found (such wandered through on occasion, they said:  she was to understand that she must never allow one into the house, or go out to greet one, just in case) to give to her.  It was a garment of fine white fabric, which opened in the front like a robe and tied at the waist:  but the cloth was so fine that it was sheer; she could see the shape of her hand through it.

She had never owned such a thing.  “How lovely!” she said.

“Let us see it on you!” they said.  And then, “You should wash up first; we shall make an event of it.  Here, we will draw hot water for you – a very warm bath, before you show us.”

They poured the water cheerfully into the tub, and she touched it with one finger.  “It is quite hot,” she said.

“Yes, yes,” they said easily, “a hot bath is the most relaxing.  Tonight should be all relaxation and pleasure.”

That sounded cheery enough, and so she shooed them away from the little room and stepped into the bath.  The warmth went all through her body, relaxing indeed.  When she was quite clean, she put on the robe.  It felt soft, and she could see all of her shape through it dimly, like something seen through fog.  There were even hints of color in the center of her breasts, under her arms, under her belly, wherever color was on her body.  She thought this made for a peculiar look, but it was her present, and they had asked to see her in it; so out she went.

In the main room, she found that the table and chairs had been cleared away, and blankets and cushions were spread out all over the floor.  All of the dwarves gazed upon her intently as she stood puzzled in the doorway.  At last, with a sharp intake of breath, Krinnock stepped forward, and took her hand.

“Snow White,” he said gently, “the time has come when you must keep the rest of your bargain.”

“Have I not kept it?”

“For the most part, but not in full.  You promised us all that a woman provides, but as of yet,” he said, glancing down along her form and then back up to her face, “one thing remains that you have not given.”

She looked around at them all, and down at herself in her sheer robe, and began to understand.  “You…you want my…” at a loss for words, she gestured down vaguely toward the part she had been told would be the one desired.

Krinnock smiled and nodded.  “We wish to lie with you, yes.”

She blushed, and then she nodded back.  “You have been very kind to me, and I wish to please you, and to keep my promise.  But this thing I have never done before.  Will it offend you if you have to teach me?”

“No!” Krinnock grinned.  “To the contrary, it will be our pleasure.  Come, sit with us.”

She looked around at them again.  “With all of you?”

“It was the only solution we could agree on,” Kori explained, already sitting on the floor beside a basin of cooking oil.  “First we thought to take turns, but we could not decide whose turn would come first.  So it will be all of us in one night instead.”

“Come, my dear,” said Flint, taking her hands as Krinnock gently pressed her shoulders to bid her sit among them.  “Don’t be afraid.  We will take good care of you.”  He ran a finger along the inside of one of her thighs, and at the other side of her Niri came and untied her robe, and opened it to show her body; then, almost reverent, he cupped her left breast in his hand.  Behind her, Krinnock bent to touch his lips to the base of her neck.  Through her half-closed eyes, she could see the others beginning to remove their own clothes.

“I…” she breathed, her head swimming as sensation seemed to come at her from all directions.  “I will try…not to be afraid.  But…my stepmother said…there was a barrier…that would hurt me when….”  She ran out of words as an unseen mouth wrapped itself around her fingers.

“Ssh,” said Krinnock, licking at her ear.  “It is true that we are larger than many of the tall folk, and that your virginity is in tact.  But we are men of craft, Snow White.  As our saying goes, ‘Before you forge iron, the furnace must be hot.’  We will make sure that you are as ready as you can be.  The heat from your bath has already begun to open you.  Now you must relax.”  He nibbled at her earlobe, and she sighed and closed her eyes.

With eyes shut, there was no way to connect sensation to name.  Krinnock she supposed was the one rubbing her shoulders to relax her, easing the robe away: but now she was leaned back into a bare lap, where hands traced her throat softly; and there were mouths on both of her nipples, one sucking, one teasing with its tongue; and there were hands on her belly and thighs, and one, oh! one had found that delicate spot, and she gasped and arched her back.

“Ssh,” someone told her, and a mouth pressed against hers, the rough beard scratching her cheek, and hands held down her arms and legs, and touched her everywhere at once.  She felt a thick finger penetrate her and pull upward, slowly, and she felt a dull ache there, and moaned into the mouth that covered hers.  The finger rocked back and forth, pulling each time, and now there was the silky touch of a tongue along the innermost part of her thigh, making her tremble.  There were several sighs of satisfaction around her at that, and more mouths fell upon her, and the hands probed and kneaded more demandingly.

She felt her legs lifted up into the air, rocking her hips upward; someone caught one foot and then wetness claimed the toes, and on the other side she was held up by the thigh, and a finger still worked and pulled inside her, and away behind that, there was a tongue – oh! _there?_ yes, and it probed that opening with shocking boldness, and its alacrity made her squeal and shake and pull against those who held her in this awkward position.

“Gods, I can’t take it!” a voice said, and she felt her chin pulled off to one side, and hard flesh entered her mouth, and helplessly she sucked at it, though it was so long and so thick that it seemed to fill her mouth and her throat even between its thrusts inward, so that she had to raise her chin just right and relax her throat to withstand them.  A hand pulled at her hair and held her into the deep thrusts, and all the while the other hands and mouths worked across her body as they liked.  She opened her eyes a crack and recognized Flint as the one who had claimed her mouth.  Her hands were blocked from seeking any hold or control, and she moaned louder and sucked and played her tongue across the ridge near his tip, for that was the only power she had.  He clutched at her hair as if for dear life and roared, and spasmed, and released deep into her throat, almost beyond where she could taste him; and with a whimper she fell back as he released her into what she now saw was Krinnock’s lap, where he had pinned her hands.

“Is she nearly ready, Firelock?” he asked, for that was the one pulling at her maidenhead.

“She is blooming nicely, but I am not sure she’s ready for one of us.  Perhaps we should try something smaller first.”

Krinnock nodded.  “Try the oil as well.”

Niri left his post at her breast and fetched the basin of oil and a cucumber, and dipped the vegetable in the oil.  Firelock took another bit of oil into his hand and brought it back to where he was working her; it was warm and slick, and he rubbed it around her aching virginity and soothed it.  Then he took the cucumber from Niri, who resumed his suckling, and slowly pressed it against the opening.

As he pressed, going no further for a moment, she looked around at them all:  Triv licking at the back hole, and now, oh now, dipping his little finger into the oil and making invasions of his own; and Firelock threatening her maidenhead with his tool while he held back her left thigh, and Kori holding up the right leg, stroking the tender part of her thigh and nibbling at her toes, and Flint and Niri fondling and licking at her nipples, and Krinnock holding her head and pinning her hands, seeming only to bide his time.  And somehow seeing them all in their places, all exploring their desire for her at once, was even more overwhelming than the sensations by themselves, and she gave a high whine, and licked her lips, and closed her eyes again as she tilted her head back.

At that moment Firelock pressed through her flesh, and it throbbed and ached as he moved the invading instrument in and out of her, and she kicked convulsively and thrashed her head, which only seemed to stir the dwarves to greater excitement.  The finger in the rear moved in time, and Niri reached down past Firelock to stroke at her in the front, and now she was completely overcome.  There was fire and tingling and aching and cold all through her body, and it was more than she could bear.  She pulled unconsciously against her restraints, and pressed back into Krinnock’s lap, and shook, and dimly heard herself emitting a long, high wail.  Again, this only excited them more, and she felt teeth grazing her flesh, and hands clawing eagerly, and sucking so intense she wondered if she could bear it.

And suddenly, the aching fullness was gone, and her legs were released.  “She’s ready,” said Firelock.  And they lifted her up by the arms, and helped her to her feet – for she could barely stand – and escorted to where Krinnock had moved into an armless chair, where he sat stroking himself to assure that he was hard enough to claim her.

She could not help but stare.  His hammer was massive, long and thick, far beyond that of the assassin in the wood.  She realized then that Flint’s had been great as well, and hazily she glanced around her at the others – yes:  all were longer than her hands, and thick as her wrists, and hungering for her.  How would she take them all?  How would she take even one?

They spread her legs and helped her sit on Krinnock’s lap; or more properly, they lowered her onto his great hammer and then held her there as she swayed and gasped, her back and legs trembling at the enormity of him inside of her poor tight hole, which screamed with fire and ache and yet also with eagerness and fulfillment of its destiny.  With their hands they helped her move slowly up and down, releasing a fraction of his length only to swallow it again.  She trembled as if cold, and grasped almost blindly at Krinnock’s beard for an anchor, for a hold of anything; and gently he took hold of her hands and pulled her body toward him, and being too short to kiss her in this position, he took one of her breasts into his mouth.  Again he was holding her wrists now, holding her helpless.  She wailed up at the ceiling as they lifted and lowered her in rhythm, their hands still groping every secret place as they moved her.  She felt as if she might tear open. 

“Down,” Krinnock whispered, and they removed her from him and laid her, quite powerless to move herself, on her back on the floor; and with reverence in his eyes he covered her, and his beard hung down over the place where her ribs met her belly as he spread her legs wide and thrust himself back into her.  She squealed again, and threw her arms over her head in surrender; and sure enough the others were upon her, grasping and biting wherever they could find a place.  A mouth found hers and quieted her for a few moments, as the dull thick pounding tore at her and maddened her with its strange mixture of desire and pain.  Krinnock’s rhythm grew faster, and she thought for a moment that she must burst, but instead he shook and then grew quite still, and then the overwhelming feeling of fullness lessened slightly, mercifully, and he withdrew.

She had not time to breathe a sigh of relief when Niri leapt up and moved into Krinnock’s place, and pierced her with the same powerful ache and fire, and now with him was added a sense that he was pounding into some strange wall within her, that responded with its own special ache.  She howled pitifully, and tears welled in her eyes, her legs hanging lifeless in Niri’s grasp as he used them to propel himself deep into her body.  Krinnock came and covered her mouth with one hand.  “Ssh,” he said, looking into her eyes tenderly as he stroked at her nipple with his other hand.  “Ssh, it’s all right.  You’re doing very well, my dear.  We are all very proud of you.”

She whimpered into his hand.

“Hmm,” said Niri, “perhaps the bench.”  Two others rose and brought it, and they lifted her limp form onto it, and laid it out with her head near one end; he stood over it and lifted her legs into position again.  “Yes, that’s better,” he said, and there came another tearing as he pounded again into her swollen flesh.  Then the hands and lips swarmed over her once more.  A hand grabbed her right hand and pressed it onto his pulsing hammer, stroking it back and forth a few times until she got the idea; obligingly she took it into her hand and stroked it on her own.  She glanced up at Firelock, its owner, as he reached down and pinched at her breast so hard it made her squeak.

“Snow,” a voice whispered to the other side, taking her hand.  “Me too.”  She turned, half-delirious, to see Triv at that side, his flesh swollen so thick that she was relieved to have him request her hand.  Gladly she took hold of him, and he swayed forward.  Forn came to her head and offered himself to her mouth, and obediently she opened her lips and touched her tongue to his very tip.  He gasped with pleasure, then forcefully took hold of her by the hair on the top of her head and pulled her the rest of the way onto him.

Thus they went on for several moments, while she felt strangely suspended in time, between different levels of awareness of the steady stroking movements shredding the last of her virgin flesh, and the hard, uneven pounding that filled her throat, and the quivering, exposed cords she held in both hands.  She felt all their eyes and the eyes of the others on her, silent, awestruck and desirous.  Niri released himself into her, so deep that she imagined she could feel for just a second the small, tight stream striking that wall of flesh far back inside her, and she trembled in sync with him, and he crowed with satisfaction.  As if by chain reaction Forn shook and filled her mouth with a bitter taste, so much of it that even as she tried to swallow a bit dribbled out of one corner; and now those who had not yet had their turn seemed almost mad with need for her.

Triv seized her off of the bench and thrust her down onto her hands and knees and with no other warning invaded her from behind, and she threw her head back and howled as his great girth tore her yet further open, beyond even what she had yet imagined possible.  He grabbed her hair and kept her head pulled back, his other hand playing around the side of her throat, making her work harder to breathe.  As she opened her mouth to cry out again she found it filled; Firelock had silenced her, and helplessly she opened her throat to him as he took her by the sides of the head and held her still while he pounded at her.

“Gently, gently!” said Kori from somewhere she did not see.  “She will never survive me if you have bruised her.”

“Ah, that’s right,” Triv said, and seemed to laugh.  “I’d forgotten your preference.  Here then, I will make room for you.  Firelock, hold her still now!”  He removed himself – almost as great a shock as his entry – and came around to wriggle underneath her.  For a few seconds she felt her insides throbbing at their emptiness, marveling at the intensity of violations finally ended…except that they were not ended, and with a great rush of flame Triv was inside her again, and she groaned onto Firelock as Triv pulled her down by the hips to take him even deeper.

Someone gathered her hair and held it behind her head, and hands stroked her breasts and her back.  Even those who were finished were still watching her, still touching her.  “Beautiful,” one whispered.

Hands were caressing her buttocks now, playfully spreading them apart.  Another tongue – for it could not now be Triv’s – sought out the place between them, stroking her in rhythm with the way Triv lifted and lowered her over him.  She clung with both arms to Firelock to keep her aloft, feeling the hair on his body with a peculiar sensitivity.

The tongue vanished and was replaced by a thick point of pressure, just pressing against the tiny opening.  Surely, she pleaded in her head because she could not with her gagged mouth, surely not – have pity –

No, none.  She screamed and tore at Firelock with her fingers, and it was all she could do not to clench her teeth and maim him.

“The oil, fool!” someone cried.  “Use the oil!”

“Of course the oil,” said Kori’s voice, sounding perhaps apologetic; and mercifully that sensation was gone as he went, presumably, to fetch it.  She felt warm liquid pouring over her backside, drenching her, and hands rubbed it over her, warm and soothing and smooth.  The point of pressure returned.

“Try to relax,” voices told her, and “you can do it,” and “gods you’re beautiful,” as hands slid over her and pinched at nipples, and the flesh filling two of her orifices throbbed with joy as the last slowly, slowly opened to accept its own invader inside.  Her whole body shook uncontrollably; she felt utterly conquered, laid open to the universe, filled to overflowing with pain and pleasure and literal flesh.  Tears flooded her eyes and flowed over her cheeks, and she lost all remaining ability to move in her own rhythm, all remnants of any illusion of control of her own mouth, her own hips, her own body.  She trembled and sighed and softly, pliantly, allowed herself to be moved up and down upon the twin spears on which Kori and Triv had impaled her.  She let go of Firelock and allowed herself to be held up by Triv’s fierce hands biting at her nipples, and by the others who took her by the arms and caressed her and watched her in silent reverence.  Her jaw fell slack and she embraced Firelock with her tongue, gulped at him wearily.

Kori came first, suddenly breaking free of the shared rhythm with Triv and clawed at her spread hips, hammering deep and fast enough to bring back a trace of the pain along with the strange, deep shuddering of surrender, and then he yelped, and smacked her on one cheek with his palm, and withdrew.  Firelock seized her hair so tight it might have torn from her head, and hissed, and not only filled her mouth but flooded it, and the bitter juice was still coming as he broke free of her, and it poured over her lips and her chin.  She wanted to fall onto her hands, but she was still held aloft, still groped and teased and controlled by the hands of those she had already satisfied, as Triv continued to pry her, if it was possible, even further open.

“Move!” he growled at them, and as they fell away he pushed her down and turned her over, back onto hands and knees, and there he entered her yet again, hard and fierce; and then he pulled her partway upright, reaching around to the front of her body, up with one hand to her throat and down with the other to the place where their bodies met.  “Hold her,” he said to the others, and they came, even spent they came back to her and pressed up against her, and kissed her tired, besmirched mouth and fondled whatever parts of her they could reach. 

Behind her, Triv controlled her breath with one cruel hand, and with the other stroked at her as his flesh pulsed relentless into hers; stroked with a surprising knowing, and beyond her soreness and her weariness she felt another wave of longing and pleasure wash over her, and deliriously, she wove a high, incoherent song of cries to the seven little men who had transformed her so completely, and it seemed as if they devoured her through their hands and their mouths and the last, largest conquering invader that consumed her, that blew its fire through her, that tore away the last of her innocence with one great final burst that shook her and broke her and left her lying in a fetal curl upon the cushions on the floor, almost unconscious of exactly when her trial had ended.

When her head had cleared a little, she found that they were all still sitting naked around her, those nearest still stroking her skin and hair gently, though not now with any apparent sense of need.  Niri was kneeling close to her head, holding a glass of water.  She feebly moved one hand toward it, so they helped her up to sit, and she took a few small sips and fell back into arms that seemed willing to hold her up.

It took a few trial movements of her mouth before she found it in her to speak.  “Did I…do it right?” she muttered.

They laughed.  “You did marvelously,” said Krinnock.  “We are very pleased.  Quiet now, and rest.  Perhaps we should take you to bed?”

She nodded, and they carried her to her bed, and gently put her robe back on her, and put her under the covers, and softly stroked her back and her hair until she fell asleep, which did not take long.

***

In the morning she could barely walk.  They drew her another hot bath and told her to rest, and promised her that now that everyone had taken the first turn together, it had been easier to come to an agreement on a schedule, and from now on she would only be expected to withstand one of them at a time.  They kissed her one by one – a soft tongue kiss from Niri, whose turn she supposed was next – and set out for the mine singing.

She took the bath they had prepared, warm with salt in it, and relaxed there as best she could for a while.  When she came out she felt a bit better, although it still seemed as if her head was a bit cloudy, and her legs did not seem to come together in quite the same way as they once had, which still made walking awkward, as if she had to learn it over again.

She wandered out into the little yard, and lay down in the grass, and watched clouds for a while; and she was almost going to drift back off to sleep when she noticed the shadow.  She opened her eyes wider and found that a bent old woman was hovering over her.  She leapt up with a cry and scurried back into the house and locked the door, surprised once there that the woman had not kept up with her, so awkward and sore she was.

“Oh dear heavens!” a crackling voice came in through the window.  “You didn’t let a poor old woman startle you, surely?  I am sorry.  And I only thought to offer to share my apples with you.”

Snow White peeked timidly out of the window.  Yes, sure enough, a little old woman in rags, holding a basket of apples.  She opened the window a crack.  “I…I am sorry,” she said.  “I am not allowed to let anyone into the house, or to go out if someone is there.”

“Ah,” said the old woman, “I take it the man of the house has said as much.”

“Well, men…well, dwarves…well…anyway, yes.”

The old woman came closer to the window, and looked in at her with a canny grin.  “And by that old shuffle on a young girl I would say that you are just deflowered?”

She opened the window a little wider.  “What does that mean?”

“It means one of them had your maidenhead, dear.  No more than a day ago, I think.”

Snow White blushed.  “I do not know if I am supposed to talk about it, but…yes.  All seven, actually.”  She added under her breath, “I am quite sore.”

“Seven!  My, my!  I imagine you would be sore, my dove.  Well, then, most certainly you should have some apples.  You will need to eat to restore your strength.  I have these from an orchard that is just a little way from here, and I was carrying them home when I noticed you.  If you are not allowed to go out and fetch your own, it would be a pity not to leave you some.”

“Thank you!  I mean – I mean I don’t know if I should,” she corrected herself.  “I don’t know if they would want me taking things from a stranger.”

“How possessive they sound!  I would almost imagine you a slave to their wanton lusts, poor thing.  I will not make you take any apples, of course, but it does seem a shame.  They are quite safe.  Here, let me show you.”  She took a knife from her belt, and Snow White started.  “My,” said the old woman, “how jumpy you are!  I wonder what strange, sad life you must lead…at any rate, dear, mark this.”  She cut the biggest, reddest apple in half, and showed her the insides.  “Do you see the little star it makes?  That is a blessing.  Now, I shall try my half.”  She bit into the top half, chewed, swallowed, and smiled, and took another bite.  “You see?  They are very tasty.  Just try this one, and if you don’t want any others I will be on my way without another word.”

“Perhaps…perhaps just the one,” said Snow White, timidly putting out her hand, and the old woman placed the bottom half of the apple there and continued to eat her own part with apparent delight.  Snow White bit into her half, and ate of it, and found it sweet indeed, quite pleasant tasting, though perhaps with a slight trace of something strange…she pondered whether these would be good apples for baking, and was beginning to take a second bite when she froze.

Her lips and tongue were numb, and she felt as if a vice had closed around her throat, and her heart pounded painfully.  She wanted to cry out but found that she could not draw in the breath to speak.  She could hear nothing but blood rushing in her ears, and her skin was growing cold.  She reached out for the old woman, but she stepped back and watched Snow White with a smile that had grown wide and cruel and almost familiar.…

Her sight slowly compressed inward, ringed more and more by darkness, as she clawed at her throat, at the floor, having fallen to her knees, shuddering with cold; at last she could see nothing, feel nothing, do nothing, and she fell lifeless to the floor.

 


	7. Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morwen's ghost leads Aven to Snow, but too late. As war unfolds, Aven's grief takes some surprising turns, and Morwen takes her revenge.

If stone could scream, this must be the sound.

The ground was grey, broken and barren, and the revenant that plagued his dreams raised its fists into the empty air, and shattered it with a gravelly howl that chilled his blood.

“Am I too late?” he cried.  “What has happened to her?  Morwen, _what must I do?_ ”

At the sound of its name the deathly image froze, and lowered its horrible arms.  “I will bar her way,” it pronounced.  “I will delay her for as long as I can.  You must call her back home.”

“What do you mean?  Is she hurt?  Please, please, if you are real, where is she?”

She cocked her head at a strange angle, and chanted what sounded like a children’s rhyme:

            _“Queen, you are of beauty rare,_

_But Snow White living in the glen_

_With the seven little men_

            _Is a thousand times more fair._

“And you are not left out of my reckonings, o Queen, once my first task is done.  Go, child, find her!”

And Aven woke to the sound of hoofbeats.  He had been found.  He leapt to his feet and found his sword, lifting it up just in time to find that his discoverers were his own people.  Their leader jumped down from his horse.  “Your Highness, thank heaven we have found you!  The land is in chaos, we – ”

Aven had no attention to spare for news he had sent himself.  “What did it mean?  Little men, little men!” he babbled at the guard.  “Are there little men in the wood?  Do you know?”

“Little – what?  Like gnomes?  Dwarves?”

Dwarves!  But they are all in the mountains.  Aren’t they all in the mountains?”

“I think so.”

“I thought I had heard,” said a man from his horse, “I mean, there were rumors that a few had come down and started a mine…now if I could remember where….”

Aven hastened to him and glared up at him.  “Think!”

“Was it a stream?  I think so.  A stream down out of the mountains.  Off in the hills, that way somewhere.”  He gestured vaguely.

Aven gave a loud sigh.  “It is better than nothing,” he growled.  “If you have been sent for me, then follow me!  I will not go home until my work is done.  Come!”

It took three days to find the Silverstream Mine from the northern side.  The stream issued from rocks beside a glimmering cave, and mining tools and lanterns were there: but the mine was abandoned.  They followed the path that issued from it to a little white house, and at the doorstep there sat two dwarves, in full armor, with their axes.  On sight of the Prince and his guard they leapt to their feet.

Aven jumped down heedless and approached them.  “We are seeking Snow White.  Do you know her?”

“Back!” they roared, and brandished their axes.

“I mean her no harm!” he cried.

“Be that true or not,” one of them growled, “you will not pass this door.”

“Is she there?  I must see her!”  He lifted his hands in placation as they raised their axes high again, and he studied them.  Their eyes were bloodshot, their faces haggard.  Moved by a sympathy he did not understand, he asked in a softer voice, “Have you not slept?”

The two glanced at each other, and after a moment the one with the red beard spoke.  “There is no sleep here, only work.  Three must hunt, and two must guard, and two to work the coffin.”

“The coffin!”  Aven fell back a step.  Then he said, in a pained voice, “Good dwarves, I think I must insist that you let me pass.”

“Oh aye, must we?  If you come from the Queen, you will pay for insistence with your head!”

Aven’s blood was beginning to feel icy.  “If you mean the Queen Snow White’s stepmother, no, I do not come from her, and if what I fear is what I find within, I will bring you her head as a trophy.”

The dwarves looked at each other long, and then up at him; and then they seemed to soften.  “Alone,” they muttered, and Aven gestured for his men to fall back.  The blond dwarf maintained his watch while the red one opened the door and led him inside.

And there, there, laid out in glory, was the death of hope, the death of his heart, Snow White.  She had been wrapped in strands of jewels in the dwarven custom, and wrought flowers of gold and silver surrounded the edge of the open box in which she lay.  As they had said, elsewhere in the room two other dwarves worked other metal blossoms and prepared other designs to be laid into the wood itself.

“The cover will be crystal,” the red dwarf said quietly as the other two rose, noticing the visitor.  “We cannot bear to shut her away entirely.”

“No,” Aven whispered, “one could not.”  He fell to his knees and swayed, in danger of losing all sense.

“Who is this?” one of the dwarves asked.

He pressed his fists to his temples, trying vainly to clear his head.  “I am Aven.”  The dwarves looked sharply at each other.  “Please, please, you must let me take her.  My people knew her.  I knew her.  She – ”

He could not speak more for a moment, but the dwarves looked on him with pity.  “We know,” they said.  “She told us your name.”

“Then give her to me, I beg you.  I have the power to grant your people full trading rights with mine; I will make of you great ambassadors.  And you may follow me when your fellows return,” his pathetic voice came out barely more than a grieved hiss, “and we will build a shrine to her the like of which was never seen by dwarves or men.  Please.”

They looked around at each other for a long time.  “You have great power, you say.  What then of this other Queen, the murderess?”

“By now I do not doubt that we are at war against her.  I come from the kingdom at the northern end of the valley.”

“Then that is well,” said the red dwarf, “for our people have already been called down into battle from the mountain.  Quick is the wrath of dwarves when their friends are harmed!  That kingdom is doomed to fall, so as well it is not also yours.”

“But you are nearer the point of battle,” Aven pleaded.  “With me she will be safer.  I implore you to send her with me.  You may follow whenever you will, and we will welcome you.”

The dwarves whispered together, and then the red one returned to him.  “She spoke of you,” he said, “and it appears that your grief echoes ours.  We will let her go with you.  Take great care, and know that we will follow when our folk arrive.  If you seek to bar us then, it will go ill with you!”

They had to rig a sort of wagon to carry her, for the dwarves insisted that she be carried in all that had been built thus far of her casket.  The dwarves then pointed out the clearest path back to the main road, as far north as could be, for fear of the Queen’s soldiers.  And indeed, when Aven’s men and the wagon did reach the road, they encountered their own soldiers marching southward; thus provided with cover, they took the road behind the soldiers, and headed north and homeward.

Their reception was grim and quiet.  Aven had the casket carried up to his own rooms for safe keeping, and without a word even to his family, he retreated there himself, and shut himself in with her, and would not come out.

First he took her from the box and laid her out upon his own bed; and in a grieving rage, he tore the jewels from her and dashed them onto the floor, where they scattered and spilled like thousands of shining grains.  Then he sat beside her and was quite still for hours, and could neither look at her nor move to do anything else.  At last, slowly, he forced himself to turn and see her.

She looked for all the world alive and sleeping:  no pallor had come over her face; the roses of her cheeks and lips had not faded; she was still as beautiful as when he had last seen her alive.  Small wonder that the dwarves had been loath to bury her.

She was wearing a peasant’s dress.  The outrage of this made for a decent moment’s respite from his real grief, and so he indulged it.  At least once, at the last, she would by the gods have a dress that suited her beauty, that honored her as a Princess.  With trembling fingers he pulled at the front laces of the offending clothes, and opened them.

And there were her breasts revealed before him, white and soft, the flesh relaxed across her chest in repose, with small pink nipples.  He sat and stared at her for a long moment, at a loss for what to do.  Call her home seemed to echo in his mind, you must call her home.  Well, he had brought her home.  Dead.  What was the help in that?  And now he was caught here, trapped by his own longing – for even now, horribly, he desired her, and having exposed a part of her body he could feel all of his senses screaming for him to uncover the rest.

 _What am I doing?_ he thought as he slowly pulled the dress down toward her feet and cast it down on the floor.  Death had not marred her body any more than her face: she was flawless, beautiful.  Her soft white skin was without blemish.  Her waist was narrow, her throat and arms slender; but her hips widened gently over a small but soft belly, and tender thighs.  The small triangle of hair between her legs was black as midnight, all of gentle curls, and the hair – in horror he watched himself reach out to touch it – was not coarse.

He stooped to kiss it, just at the place where the hair gave way to the flesh of her belly.  This was madness.  He found himself imagining that though the skin was cool, it was not really quite cold.  Alive but sleeping.  He stepped forward and lightly brushed his lips against one of her nipples.  He was a terrible, morbid creature, and he despised himself.  Still he stepped forward once more, and kissed her cool lips; and he continued to kiss them, madly, and caressed her lifeless body.  He pretended to himself that he could hear her sigh –

Then he stopped for a moment, almost returned to his senses.  Delusions, he thought, and tried to ignore the moisture in his eyes.  But the thought would not leave him.

What would it have been like?

Spellbound, he stood, and removed his own clothing and cast it aside.  Here was his beautiful bride at last, and whatever must come after, he would have her.  He gently moved her legs apart, to make room for himself between them; and he sat and explored this part of her as well.  Her outer lips were full, and parted with disconcerting ease, as if even in death she accepted his proposal and invited him…the inner lips were small and graceful and pink.  He opened them with a finger.

Her maidenhead was gone.

There, hadn’t this been a fine idea?  He paused again, his head swimming with horrible questions.  Which tormenting image did he choose – Snow White sporting with some stranger while Aven searched desperately for her, or Snow White bound and raped?  Such exquisite and varied pains to choose from….

Of course, sense told him, in its small dim voice, that if indeed it had been rape he could not help her now.  And if it had been her free will…he thought of his tryst with Ilraine, and shook his head.  Whatever excuses he could make for himself, he was in no position to judge her.  In the end, virgin or no, she was his love, and it was his love he wanted, not some ritual trophy of broken flesh.

And then sense vanished again entirely, and unwholesome desire bloomed again in full force, and this time took firm and unrelenting hold of him.  He crawled up over her body and covered her, and kissed her, brushing back her hair.  The touch of her cool but soft skin all along the length of his body aroused him, and he kissed her again, harder, rubbing his body against hers.  He moved down onto her breasts and pulled at them, kissed them, bit them – feverish with his own madness now – bit them harder, as if he could shock her into responding.  He pulled at every thatch of hair: on her head, the bits of fuzz beneath her arms, the pubic hair.  He bit at her throat, rubbing his hands up and down along her sides, reaching around beneath her for her round buttocks.

He could not bear it; he could not bear not to be inside her.  Raging with thwarted desire, with only the smallest corner of his mind still crying out and calling him defiler rather than lover, he thrust into her, and paused for a heartbeat, waves of grief and satisfaction crashing against each other within him.  She was still smooth, still tight even if not virginal, still – doubtless he imagined this – still moist.  Weeping he pulled out and thrust again, and again, slowly, kissing her throat and insanely imagining it not cold, not still.  She was as beautiful inside as she was out, and he grieved afresh for his loss even as the pleasure of his sacrilege shuddered through him.  He held her lovingly, and kissed her, and made love to her lifeless body.

Did it stir?

No, he knew that it could not.  It was the madness only, and he surrendered to it and allowed himself the moment of pretending that he could feel her breath on his neck, could almost hear her sigh for him as he made his slow, sad strokes into her delicious cunt.  He could weep for how magnificent it felt to be inside her – for that matter, he was weeping.  He had forgotten.

“I love you,” he whispered into her ear.  “I will love you forever.”

And then, beyond belief, beyond all reckoning, an answering whisper.  “Aven.”

His eyes snapped open, and he stared into hers.  Also open.  Looking at him.  By all the gods!  He lost his rhythm, and watched her red mouth open.  “Don’t…stop…Aven.”  A hand clumsily reached for him.  “Please.”

And so, helpless, he began again, and now he knew, he knew, that somehow her body was growing warmer to the touch beneath him, and her eyes were slowly clearing, and she began to smile.  “Yes,” she whispered, “I love you, I want you to…take me….”

And there was no more question but that he must.  He rocked forward into her deeper and faster, and now her legs bent, and then wrapped around his, and her hips swayed forward to invite him deeper still.  She wrapped her arms around his neck and sighed happily into the base of his throat.  He reared up for a moment to look at her, scanning her hungrily up and down, watching how her breasts rippled with the rhythm of their movement, the sweet way her throat flashed with her heavy breaths. 

He swept her up from the bed and held her upright, still inside her, and held her to him, passing his hands in a growing frenzy up and down her body, kissing her now with a desperate probing tongue that he found sweetly answered.  He grabbed at one of her breasts where it hung full and ripe, and held it upward for worship, and fell upon it ravenously.  She laughed and twined her fingers into his hair and held him there, and it all became too much to bear.  The flood within him broke, and he fell forward onto her again, hammering into her with every ounce of strength, kissing and biting and whispering her name and bursting…bursting….

And then he was lying still upon her as he had in the beginning, touching her hair.  “Snow,” he whispered.  “Don’t be a dream.  Don’t leave me again.”

“I won’t,” she whispered back.  “You have brought me home.”

***

 The siege had come upon them unexpectedly, from the west rather than the north and too soon, and the soldiers said dwarves.

And soon after the first day, when they said dwarves, they said it with fear in their eyes.

Legend called them fierce enough, and truth seemed to call them still fiercer.  The siege had begun with a raging attack that swept down upon them, and in only one wicked battle nearly a third of the city’s men had fallen to dwarven axes.  Now the heads thus claimed were all mounted on pikes that surrounded the castle looking inward, and the dwarves waited outside that ring.

Each day at dawn, one of them – a different one each day – would stand forth, daring the arrows that had already proven inferior to dwarven mail, and call out, “The Queen for your lives!”  And then that one would rejoin his fellows, and all would be silent for the remainder of the day and night.  The rest of the time…they would sit and wait.

Time was unfortunately of the essence, for it was known that the Queen had already declared war on the valley kingdom, and that army might arrive at any time to worsen matters.  Murmurs of discontent were growing, and despite their fear of her people began to say that perhaps the Queen for their lives was not such an unreasonable trade – for in truth she had never been a popular ruler, cruel and vindictive as she was.

Two weeks had passed when the other army arrived, and their coming was much worse even than Ilraine could have expected.

They came under royal banners, with full fanfare, and the dwarven host peeled to the sides to make a space for them in the ring.  A man in armor stood forth.

“‘The Queen for your lives,’ the dwarves have said,” he called out loudly, and all on the walls could hear him.  “We offer you instead a Queen for a Queen!  The true heir returns!  Snow White lives!”

From the walls all stared, and Ilraine watched unbelieving.

But…down from the royal couch stepped accursed Aven, dressed not for war, save for his breastplate, but in fine court clothes of deepest blue.  And he crossed to the other side and offered his hand, and there…and there…

And there she stepped down, radiant as morning, in a crimson gown far finer than any she had ever worn at home, and a crown of red roses was in her hair; and Ilraine fairly choked as she watched the girl joyously embraced by various dwarven folk; and then began to know fear as her own people cheered to see her safe.

They would do it.  They would make the trade.  They would choose Snow White, as they always had.  Traitors!

She fled from the wall and down into the courtyard, and as she crossed she stopped to stare at the evil shrine to her predecessor and first victim.  Today it looked quite normal, as it had not for weeks.  The way in to where the statue stood was clear and open.

“You have done this!” Ilraine cried wildly.  “Witch!  You have done this somehow!”  A mad need overcame her to topple the statue and shatter it, and she dashed toward the opening with her hands forward.

The thorns twined shut behind her.

***

A messenger was sent out.  The Queen had vanished, he said, and thus could not be surrendered; but their beloved Princess and her escort were of course welcome home in peace, and her people would answer to her and forsake the renegade Queen in her favor.

So first, soldiers from both the human and dwarven armies were sent in to make a search; and when it was considered safe, Snow White and Aven entered the castle under guard.  Firelock soon came to them there.

“I think we have ended our search,” he said, disquiet in his eyes.  “Come and look!”

In the courtyard, there was a huge black tangle of thorns choking the grounds for yards in all directions past the shrine:  and as Snow White set foot upon the grass, a chilling laugh came up out of the ground, and a voice rose up as if from somewhere beneath the thorny hedge:

“A thing of beauty at the start,

Fair without but sick within;

Now the wages of her sin

Here reveal her wicked heart!”

And impossibly a tendril rolled out toward them from the bushes, and at its end, impaled and bound with thorns, was indeed a human heart.  Snow White stepped back from it and gasped.  The tendril shriveled and pulled back, and as they watched all the thick branches withered and withdrew likewise, until all had sunk into the ground and left the marble foundations bare.

The statue had toppled and broken in two; and beneath its crushing weight was the rest of Queen Ilraine.

***

And so Aven and Snow White married, and the two kingdoms were made one.  Their friendship with the dwarves was secure, and lasted for generations; and the wealth of each nation flowed into the other, and together their prosperity and craft became known far and wide.

Snow White never again set foot in the home of her youth; but all around the castle where she settled with Aven, still, red roses grew.


End file.
